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THE FOOTHILLS OF PAKNASSUS 



•The 




THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

KEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 



THE 
FOOTHILLS OF PAMASSUS 



BY ^ 

JOHN KENDRICK BANGS 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
1914 

All rights reserved 



75 1« ^ 4- 

•3 3 ^^ 



COPTKIGHT, 1914, 

By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 



Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1914. 



J, 8, Cushing Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. 
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 




'CI.Aa62443 



MAEY GRAY BANGS 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

The Foothills of Parnassus 1 

IN LYRIC VEIN: 

For the Dull and Dreary Day. . , , , 5 

As TO Honey 7 

On Being Good 8 

Color-blind . . ..... ... 9 

To AN American Beauty .,.,.. 11 

On a Balmy Day in February 12 

The Hazard 13 

As TO Love .14 

A Change of Heart 16 

A Protest . . . 17 

My Share . .19 

An Infallible Receipt 20 

To A Passing Breeze , . . . . . .21 

My Dog . . 22 

The Verdict . . . . . . . . ,24 

■ The Invitation , .25 

A Hint to Julia . .26 

The Fisher-maiden 27 

A Dream . . .29 

My Stores of Wealth 31 

Smoke-rings 33 

vii 



Contents 

PAGE 

Daphne's Foot . . . . . . . .34 

Cupid: Bankrupt 36 

The Consolers '37 

Love, Laughter, and Song 39 

June 41 

The Little Elfman 43 

The Origin op the Kiss 44 

Love's Domain 45 

Phyllis: Disciplinarian 46 

The Road to Arcadt 48 

The Songs of Spring . . . . . . . 60 

IN LIGHTEE STRAIN: 

In Trouting Time 66 

The New Span 67 

The Katydids 69 

Archery . .60 

Ye Rime op Ye Knightlie Coward .... 62 

Maud Muller 64 

The Wisdom op the Sphinx 66 

At the Opera .66 

A Leap-year Dilemma 67 

Pegasus : His Sinecure 68 

The End of the Quarrel 70 

Sight Seeing 72 

The Plaint of Uncle Ebenezer 74 

Incorporated 76 

The Wisdom of Silas 78 

To Fortune : A Prayer . . . . . .80 

The Up-to-date Farmer 81 

Diplomacy 86 

The World, Dr 89 

• •• 

vm 



Contents 

PAGK 

The Junkman . ... . , . . .91 

Fishin' 93 

On a Stormy Mat-Day 95 

A-E-I-O-U . . .96 

A Confession 98 

A Legend op the Strand ...... 99 

As to Lineage 101 

The Pranksome Muses 102 

Fate 103 

The Specialists . . 104 

Phyllis at the Custom House 106 

The Curriculum of Love . . . . . . 108 

THE DEEPER NOTE: 

The Deeper Note ........ 113 

The Rose 114 

In Absentia 115 

The Waiting Instrument 116 

Miracles 117 

The Dreamer ........ 118 

A Love Song 119 

To Time 120 

Better than Gold . 121 

As TO Yesterday 122 

A Vision op Loss 123 

As to Other Worlds 125 

My Allies 126 

Inspiration • • 128 

N On Lincoln's Birthday 129 

In July 130 

The Task . 131 

The Fount of Song 132 

ix 



Contents 



PAGE 

The Poet 133 

In the Month of Februeer 134 

When Spring Days Comb 136 

The Lighted Way 137 

The Thief 138 

"The Hypocritic Days" 139 

Sir Kindly-Thought 140 

The Poet's Grave 141 

A Fireside Fancy 142 

The Joy of Living 143 

Transplanted . . 144 

The Southron Messenger 145 

March . 146 

The Alternative 147 

A Woodland Easter 148 

Nature's Comforters 149 

The Catch . . 150 

The Sunny Side 151 

The Heritage 152 

The Song of the Eose. 154 

The Wealth of the Koad 155 

Humor . 157 

The Light of Lights . 158 

As TO Fear 160 

The Ever Young 162 

Ploddin' Along 164 

The Greener Bay 165 

The Joys of Rhyme 166 

The Seeing Eye . . 168 

The Gateway 169 

The Crown op Washington ...... 170 

The Blessed Blind 171 

X 



Contents 



PAGE 

To Makk Twain ........ 172 

The Affinities 173 

To THE Muse in Autumn . . . . . . 174 

Cm Bono? 175 

Shakespeare's Birthday 176 

As to the Law 177 

'TwixT Fact and Fancy 178 

Music 179 

Thanksgiving Day . . . . . . . . 180 

Service 182 

Joy Sharing . . , 183 

Eepayment 184 

My Creed 185 

The Summons 186 

Gettysburg Fifty Years After . . . . . 187 

Profit and Loss 190 

On a Rainy Day in a Library 193 

S.O.S 196 



XI 



For permission to reprint some of the poems contained 
in this volume the author is indebted to the courtesy 
of the editors and publishers of Munsey^s Magazine, 
Harper^s Magazine, Hie Century Magazine, Scribner's 
Magazine, Harper^s Weekly, St. Nicholas, and Life. 



THE FOOTHILLS OF PARNASSUS 

I MAY not hope to scale the loftier heights. 

Full well I know ! 
Yet are there foothills with their rare delights, 

And slopes below 
Whereon a modest singer slight of skill, 

And void of art. 
May roam, and sing such measures as he will 

From out his heart. 

About him run the clearly blazoned ways 

That still resound 
With echoes of the songs that won the bays 

Of Poets crowned, 
And now and then if he but linger there 

His soul may hear 
Some note of beauty from those Singers rare 

Of Yesteryear ! 



IN LYRIC VEIN 



FOR THE DULL AND DREARY DAY 

When the frost is on the heather 
And the skies are dark and grim, 
And the bleak and wintry weather 
Makes the Hght of Heaven dim, 
None the less my soul rejoices. 
For I have a little way 
Of reserving bits of sunshine 
For the dull and dreary day — 
Little bits of sunny hours, 
Little rifts of golden light ; 
Little hints of summer flowers 
Will illumine any night. 
Tiny bits of playful fun-beams 
Will light up your weary way. 
If you^ll only save your sun-beams 
For the dull and dreary day ! 

When the cares of life befall me, 
And the clouds above hang low. 
There is nothing to appall me 
As along my way I go. 
Every trouble, every sorrow. 
Like the sea-mists fades away 
When youVe saved your bits of sunshine 
For the dull and dreary day — 
5 



For the Dull and Dreary Day 

Little glints of gleaming treasure, 
Little hints of mellow sheen ; 
Matters not how small the measure — 
Hold the spirit fresh and green. 
Little rays like elfin-spun-beams 
Full of frolic and of play, 
Come to him who saves his sun-beams 
For the dull and dreary day ! 



6 



AS TO HONEY 

For honey some prefer the bee, 
But that is not the kind for me ; 
Though I admit the bee is fine 
When working in the honey Hne, 
And none denies the product's sweet 
With tea, and cakes, and bread to eat. 

The drop of syrup from the rose, 
The sweets the heliotropes disclose, 
The luscious drafts from hollyhocks. 
From lilac and the golden phlox. 
From honeysuckle, violet — 
Ambrosial all — and yet — and yet — 

When radiant Chloe casts her eye 
On me with glances soft and shy. 
And then, when no one's near to see. 
Turns quickly and — well, kisses me — 
No floral sweet the Queen Bee sips 
Compares with that of Chloe's lips. 



ON BEING GOOD 

It is not easy to be good 
At all times as one really should. 
Temptations lie on every hand 
That only saints can well withstand. 
E'en though to virtue one's inclined 
Old Satan will not stay behind. 

One thing, however, is quite sure — 
In one Commandment I'm secure 
Since Daphne came to live next door 
I find it difficult no more — 
Stop laughing, Cupid ! Naughty Elf ! 
To love my neighbor as myself ! 



8 



COLOR-BLIND 

I^M color-blind as I can be. 

I know not red from green. 
I could not tell an amber sea 
From one that's plain marine. 
I could not tell you if you asked the color of my ink, 
But well I know, though blind I be, that Daphne's 
cheek is pink ! 



When sunset paints the evening skies 

In wondrous symphonies, 
And all the prism seems to rise 
From out the misty seas, 
I know not one from t'other, but I need not e'er be told 
Despite this awful blindness that my Daphne's hair is 
gold ! 



When autumn comes upon the scene 

And with her frosty brush 
Turns all the tender summer green 
On hedge, and tree, and bush, 
To gorgeous, flashing hues that seem by Titian's 

genius spread, 
I know it not, but I can see that Daphne's lips are red ! 

9 



Color-Blind 

And when the broad and kindly dome 

Of heaven rears above, 
And speaks of that supernal home 
Where dwells eternal love, 
They tell me it is azure, and I know they tell me true, 
For love dwells deep in Daphne's eyes, and they are 
azure too ! 



10 



TO AN AMERICAN BEAUTY 

My love's a rose, 

A perfect flower. 
Her beauty grows 

With every hour. 

And when she smiles, 

A fragrance rare 
My heart beguiles 

With visions fair. 

And when she pouts 

At me forlorn, 
I have no doubts 

About the thorn ! 



11 



ON A BALMY DAY IN FEBRUARY 

O SLY, light-fingered Februaire, 

You'll be in trouble soon ! 
IVe watched you with a deal of care, 
And seen you lure, purloin, and snare, 
A day from May, and here and there 

A bit of early June ! 



12 



THE HAZARD 

He dared not ask a kiss 

For fear that she'd not brook it, 
But, eager still for bliss, 

He boldly went and took it. 

And now he's unaware 
If she did like or spurn it, 

For she, right then and there. 
Compelled him to return it ! 



13 



AS TO LOVE 

'Tis said that Love when all is done 
Is but "Two Hearts That Beat As One," 
Which I deny, for I have found 
When Love to visit me comes round 
The moment he comes through the door 
He makes my heart beat like ten score. 
And even more ! 

If I were teaching Love at school, 
And to define it I were tasked, 
I'd say 
That 'tis an element, by no means cool. 

That comes our way. 

Both night and day, 

Unsought, unasked. 

And as a rule 
Makes Man a Hero or a Fool, 
And best of all it is so rich 

He cares not which I 

How shall I know him when we meet ? 
Good lack, the answer is complete — 

Sunshine or storm 
The symptoms are, Heart overwarm, 
A shivering spine, and truly Arctic feet I 
14 



As to Love 

How tell one's Love ? Ah, it were well 
If so you rest beneath its spell 

To let its gold 

Remain untold, 
For Love's a special kind of pelf 
That soon or late must tell itself. 
Yet if it must be told, why then 
Intrust it not to tongue or pen — 
The better plan, O Lover faint but true, 
Is just to let your two eyes speak for you. 



15 



A CHANGE OF HEART 

By day a bird I'd be, 
And soar the heavens high with songs of glee, 
But when the night doth fall, 
And dreamy thoughts begin to call. 

And birds that sing 
Sleep with their heads beneath their wing. 
Or in some frigid barn do woo repose 
With only wisps of straw to warm their toes, 

Or sink to rest 
In some unroofed, uncomfortable nest, 
I change my mind, and am content to be 
Me! 



16 



A PROTEST 

Hi, Nature ! Here's a word or two, 
Flirtatious Dame, I'd have with you 
Anent the way you twist and tack 
About the patient Almanac, 
And disarrange the Zodiac. 

On Monday it was winter drear ; 
On Tuesday all the atmosphere 
Betokened spring, and Wednesday morn, 
In minor key, and quite forlorn. 
We got a note from autumn's horn. 

On Thursday there was summer glow 
In sundry breezes that did blow 
Across the fields, yet Friday noon 
Until the rising of the moon 
Once more old winter sang his tune. 



On Saturday 'twas spring again, 
And I took out my fountain-pen 
To write about the vernal pink. 
But ere I had a chance to think 
Back winter came and froze my ink I 
c 17 



A Protest 

Now truly, Madame, I feel hurt 

To note how giddily you flirt ! 

Pray have you heard — or haven't you ? 

That ancient proverb tried and true 

About the old love and the new ? 



18 



MY SHARE 

The Poet sings her Buckled Shoe — 
I much prefer her eyes of blue ! 

The Poet sings the Cup she sips — 
I much prefer her smiling lips ! 

The Poet sings her Girdle chaste — 
I much prefer her lissome waist ! 

The Poet sings her Locks aglow — 
I much prefer the face below ! 

The Poet glorifies her Glove — 
I much prefer the hand of Love ! 

The Poet hymns her waving Fan — 
The cheek behind it suits my plan ! 

The Poet sings her frills of Lace — 
I much prefer their resting place ! 

So, Poet, take the Fan, the Shoe, 
The Laces, and the Girdle too. 

Take thou the Gloves, the sweetened Cup 
I give them freely wholly up. 

I'll never seek such flimsy pelf 
When I can have the Maid herself ! 

19 



AN INFALLIBLE RECEIPT 

I've had to-day a pleasant whim 
Of how to keep the heart in trim, 
And running o'er with purest joy : 
One day each week, become a boy I 
Drop toil, and trouble, care, and woe, 
And back to boyhood once more go — 
Unless, perhaps, you chance to be 
A woman — then the recipe 
Is much the same : give o'er the whirl 
Of present things, and be a girl ! 



20 



TO A PASSING BREEZE 

Stay, little Breeze, I prithee stay ! 
Come snuggle down, no longer stray. 
There's sultry days in store for me, 
And I would make a trade with thee. 
Stay here and serve me in my need 
And on sweet rose-leaves you may feed. 
I'll keep a silvery stream at hand 
To sing to you at your command. 
I'll let you hum around the eaves, 
Or flirt among the maple-leaves. 
And if you'd like to roam at will 
Among the pine trees on the hill 
You've but to say so — and the bees 
Will bring you honey when you please, 
If through the summer you will rest 
Right here with me, an honored guest, 
With naught to do but blow about 
Me when the summer sun is out. 



21 



MY DOG 

I HAVE no dog, but it must be 

Somewhere there's one belongs to me — 

A little chap with wagging tail, 

And dark brown eyes that never quail. 

But look you through, and through, and through, 

With love unspeakable, but true. 

Somewhere it must be, I opine, 
There is a little dog of mine 
With cold black nose that sniffs around 
In search of what things may be found 
In pocket, or some nook hard by 
Where I have hid them from his eye. 

Somewhere my doggie pulls and tugs 
The fringes of rebellious rugs. 
Or with the mischief of the pup 
Chews all my shoes and slippers up. 
And when he's done it to the core 
With eyes all eager pleads for more. 

Somewhere upon his hinder legs 
My little doggie sits and begs. 
And in a wistful minor tone 
Pleads for the pleasures of the bone — 
I pray it be his owner's whim 
To yield, and grant the same to him. 

22 



My Dog 

Somewhere a little dog doth wait. 
It may be by some garden-gate. 
With eyes alert and tail attent — 
You know the kind of tail that^s meant 
With stores of yelps of glad delight 
To bid me welcome home at night. 

Somewhere a little dog is seen, 
His nose two shaggy paws between. 
Flat on his stomach, one eye shut 
Held fast in dreamy slumber, but 
The other open, ready for 
His master coming through the door. 



23 



THE VERDICT 

Puck, a-sitting on a hill, 

Spied two lovers by the rill. 
Doing things that lovers do 
When their love is fond and true ; 

Just a pressure of the hand. 

Flash of eyes — you understand. 
Glancing toward the couple, he 
Cried, "What Fools these Mortals be V 

Later on he spied a pair — 
Strephon strong, and Phyllis fair ; 

Deep affection in each heart. 

Yet their ways ran far apart. 
He'd no courage for the test. 
She deemed coldness for the best. 

Puck observed, impatiently : 

"O what Fools these Mortals be I'' 

I don't know what can be done 
For to please this jeering one. 

If we do or if we don't ; 

If we will or if we won't ; 
Spite of how we play the game 
Still the verdict is the same. 

Hard to such a Fate to bow — 

Guess we're all Fools anyhow ! 
24 



THE INVITATION 

Come, Phyllis, to the countryside 
As Strephon and his Chloe hied 

Let you and I 

Now quickly hie ; 
And there, amid the clover gay. 
And the wild-flowers on the way. 
Beneath the green of arching trees. 
To the rare music of the breeze. 
Mixed with the songs of happy birds. 
And the far crooning of the herds. 
The sunbeams in their golden rout 
All playing joyously about. 

With all the scene 
A-glint with sparkle and with sheen, 
I'll show you how the true Bee sips 
His honey from the Rose's lips. 

And with their sweets 

His bliss completes. 
You be the Rose, and I, you see, — 
Well, Phyllis dear, I'll be the Bee ! 



25 



A HINT TO JULIA 

" When as in silks my Julia goes, 
Then, then methinks how sweetly flows 
The liquefaction of her clothes." 

— Heerick. 

When as in silks MY Julia goes, 
Adorned with costly furbelows, 
The which add to her stately air 
And make her fairest of the fair. 
My heart beats high, and I confess 
To deep and passionate distress. 
But all the same I turn aside — 
I can't afford so rich a bride ! 



For pressing economic laws 
Conspire to give my passion pause. 
The cost of living is so great 
I can't afford the wedded state. 
When plus the rent, the bread, the milk, 
I'd have to pay for all that silk — 
But I'd propose if Julia'd go 
For just a while in calico ! 

"The liquefaction" 's fair to see, 
But "liquidation" bothers me ! 
2$ 



THE FISHER-MAIDEN 

I SAW a maid down by the sea, 
And she was fishing merrily. 
Her eye was blue, her cheek was fair, 
The glint of sun lay in her hair ; 
She cast her hook with jocund air, 

And laughed with glee 
At all the fish that were to be. 

And I laughed too. 

For well I knew 
No fish were in that special cove 
Wherein she sought her treasure-trove ; 
For maids had fished that spot before. 

For years galore, 
And ne'er a fin had e'er emerged 
From where those waters ebbed and surged. 

I laughed at the futility 
Of fishing thusly in that sea. 

And as my roar 

Broke on the shore 
She turned and cast at me a glance — 
'Twas now direct, and now askance — 

And then and there 

That maid so fair 
That fished with such a jocund air, 
27 



The Fisher-Maiden 

Made such a catch 
As you would find it hard to match ; 

For don't you see 
The fish she caught was simple ME ! 

Moral : 

Don't laugh at maids down by the sea 
If they be fishing fishlessly, 
Lest it shall chance by some odd crook 
Of Fate yourself shall get the hook, 

And more or less 

Land in a mess, 

As I did there 
The while she fished with jocund air 
And let the warm sun kiss her hair ! 



28 



A DREAM 

Dreamed last night that Washington, 
Hamilton and Jefferson, 

Came to visit me. 
Lincoln came along likewise — 

those grave and kindly eyes ! — 

With the other three. 

1 was much disturbed at first 
In such company immersed. 

Knew not what to say. 
Seemed as though the gods had come 
On a visit to my home. 

Wondered if they'd stay. 

Felt as if four statues great 
Full of pomp and regal state 

Sat about the room. 
Got as nervous as a cat 
Wondering what they were at — 

Soul was full of gloom. 

But as moments passed along 
Felt my spirits growing strong. 

Mr. Lincoln laughed. 
Hamilton joked Washington, 
Washington joked Jefferson ; 

Each the other chaffed. 
29 



A Dream 

Lincoln slapped me on the back. 
Hamilton gave me a whack. 

Washington he grinned. 
Jefferson got off a joke ; 
Gave my ribs a gentle poke 

As we sat and chinned. 

Finally, when it was o'er, 

And they vanished from my door, 

He of Valley Forge, 
As he put his chapeau on 
Winked, and whispered, " By-by, John ! " 

I said, " Good-bye, George ! " 

Sort of felt that that queer dream 
Gave my soul a pleasant gleam 

Through the mists that blind. 
Really great men after all 
Live not on a pedestal 

Far above their kind ; 

Live not from their kin aloof 
Using heaven for a roof. 

Full of pomp and fuss, 
But are full as they can be 
Of a real Humanity 

Like the rest — of us ! 



30 



MY STORES OF WEALTH 

I RECKONED up my wealth last night. 

And found, to my surprise, 
That I'm a millionaire all right, 

Though maybe in disguise. 
To look at me, I must confess, 
No person sane would ever guess 
I ranked among the wights that hold 

A wondrous store of gold. 

The list of my securities ? 

Well, first of all put down 
A taste for the simplicities — 

Possession rare in town. 
I get along on simple things. 
And care naught for the pomp of Kings, 
And in the quietest of ways 

Prefer to pass my days. 

Next I've abundant appetite ; 

Digestion strong and good, 
And three times daily take delight 

In sitting at my food — 
The which a billionaire I know 
Would pay a million down or so 
If he could have it for himself 

Instead of all his pelf. 
31 



My Stores of Wealth 

And finally one item small 

With sparkling eyes of brown 
Who shares with me what may befall 

If Fortune smile or frown ; 
Who bids me never to repine 
Whatever pain or care be mine, 
And daily makes me Master of 
A blessed world of Love ! 



"32 



SMOKE-RINGS 

When Phyllis took up cigarettes 
I must confess to some regrets 
To see the smoke-clouds float above 
Those lips so fit for deeds of love ; 
And for awhile, let me admit, 
I fussed and fumed about a bit. 
And prayed by all the smiling stars 
She'd never take up strong cigars. 

But as I watched the airy grace 

With which she smoked, and how her face 

Lit up with joy when fairy rings 

Went flying off on misty wings ; 

And noted too how daintily 

She rolled a cigarette for me, 

I ceased to fuss, and fume, and choke, 

And let my wrath go up in smoke. 

And now together as we stray 
Along life's pleasant primrose way 
We send forth little rings that rise 
In linked chains up to the skies — 
One ring from her, one ring from me, 
Thus are they linked alternately — 
A token proving with what art 
We've each acquired the " Smoker's Heart." 
D 33 



DAPHNE'S FOOT 

Fair Daphne's foot's a dainty thing, 
Like those the poets used to sing. 
So small is it you'd hardly dream 
It had sufficient breadth of beam 
To bear the weight, however slight, 
'Twas made to carry, day and night. 

When out upon the ball-room floor 

You see it gayly tripping o'er 

The polished surface in the dance, 

You wonder greatly if perchance 

The elfin fairies of the moon 

Have not prepared her dancing shoon. 

When o'er the cold bleak pave it goes 
'Mid hustling throngs, and drifting snows. 
You stand aghast that such a rare 
And fragile thing should venture there, 
And as it nears the crossing's edge 
You tremble at such sacrilege ! 

But that foot ! What things I've said ! 
What thoughts unspeakable and dread — 
When to the Opera I'm inclined. 
And Daphne sitting just behind 
Inserts her toe 'neath where I sit 
And all unthinking wiggles it ! 
34 



CUPID: BANKRUPT 

'Tis sad, sad news I heard to-day — 

Dan Cupid's fled the town ; 
His bank has closed, and in the fray 

Of failure has gone down. 

For years poor Danny's kept the place, 

And honored every bill 
From men of every creed and race 

Presented at his till. 

But now the bank has closed its doors - 

A scene of misery ; 
And Cupid's skipped to other shores 

In hopeless bankruptcy. 

He had a vast reserve of love 

Hid safely in his vault ; 
There never was suggestion of 

A possible default. 

He owned a mine of richest ore — 
True eighteen carat stuff — 

And none who ever glimpsed the store 
Could doubt he had enough. 
35 



Cupid: Bankrupt 

But I, alas, yes, it was I 

Who wrecked our banker fair ; 

It is a fact I can't deny — 
I wrought that ruin there. 

For when I first glimpsed Polly's eyes, 
And fell beneath their sway, 

I drew a draft of such a size 
He simply couldn't pay ! 



36 



THE CONSOLERS 

When Mistress Mab averts her eyes 

And turns her face away from me. 
And views with an assumed surprise 

My heart's impetuosity, 
I do not sit apart and mope. 

And yield to fruitless lamentation 
Like one bereft of every hope. 

For Phyllis is my consolation. 

When Phyllis looks with cold disdain 

Upon my wooing, and avers 
All hope to win her hand is vain 

Because some other she prefers, 
You'll find me not downcast with woe, 

A sufferer from love's prostration ; 
I merely take my hat and go 

To Daphne for my consolation. 

And then when Daphne tells me nay — 

She likes me well, but that is all, 
And hopes that in a friendly way 

I'll still keep up my weekly call. 
Think you I sit around and grieve 

The finish of that sweet flirtation ? 
Not I ! I run around to Eve 

To find my meed of consolation. 
37 



The Consolers 

When Eve denies she ever meant 

To give me reason to suppose 
She ever loved to such extent 

She'd share my daily joys and woes, 
No tears ooze from these eyes of mine. 

Nor do I yield to dissipation, 
I seek out Susan's eyes divine 

And in them find my consolation. 

So runs the tale. When dainty Sue 

Frowns on my suit no dull regret 
Fills up my days, for there are Prue, 

And Maude, and Polly, and Babette, 
And Jane, and Sarah, Betsy and 

A never-ending congregation. 
God placed fair maids on every hand 

To fill the world with consolation. 



38 



LOVE, LAUGHTER, AND SONG 

I'm going to laugh, I'm going to laugh, 
I'm going to laugh. 

Ha-ha ! 
E'en though the harvest be but chaff, 
I'm going to laugh. 

Ha-ha ! 
For laughter fills the heart with joy, 
And kills the troubles that annoy. 
And brings to age hopes of the boy — 

Ha-ha ! 

I'm going to sing, I'm going to sing, 
I'm going to sing, 

Tra-la ! 
In face of sneer, and jeer, and fling, 
I'm going to sing, 

Tra-la ! 
For numbers rout the hosts of wrong, 
And fill the spirit with a throng 
Of joyous thoughts the whole day long - 

Tra-la ! 

I'm going to love, I'm going to love, 
I'm going to love 
Alway, 
39 



Love, Laughter, and Song 

And thus I'll win life's treasure-trove — 
I'm going to love 

For aye I 
For love spreads sunshine through the air, 
And shields the soul from pain and care, 
And spreads joy's largesse everywhere 

We stray. 

Love, song, and mirth — these are the three 
Great blessings of this earth for me, 
And that is why the whole day long 
I love, and laugh, and sing my song ! 



4Q 



JUNE 

June's a-comin' ! June's a-comin' ! Comin' right 

along ! 
I can hear the bees a-hummin' chock-a-block with song ! 
I can hear the birds a-floppin', 
And the rosy buds a-poppin', 
While the blossoms white are droppin' 
In a snowy throng ! 

I can hear the bells a-ringin' in the steeples high 
Tellin' how young Love's a-wingin', laughter in his eye, 
As the brides and grooms a-smilin' 
Walk the primrose way beguilin', 
In their dreams of bliss a-whilin' 
Honeyed hours by ! 

On the pike the tramps are trampin', void of every care. 
Ready for whatever campin' turns up anywhere. 

All around the lambs are blattin' 

Like a lot o' kids a-chattin', 

And as soft as fairy satin 

Grows the mornin' air ! 

Dearest June I want to tell yer, you're the best there be I 
When I see, or even smell yer, soul is full o' glee ! 
And no single day that passes 
But the thought o' greenin' grasses, 
Lovin' lads, and lovin' lasses. 
Thrills the heart o' me ! 
41 



June 

Love's the word, and Love's the token, burden of our 

tune; 
Trademark ever true, unbroken, mornin', night, an' 
noon. 

Love, and Life, and merry Laughter, 
Eehoin' through wood and rafter — 
Naught before, ner nothin' after 
Ever touches June ! 



42 



THE LITTLE ELFMAN 

I MET a little Elfman once, 

Down where the lilies blow. 
I asked him why he was so small, 

And why he didn't grow. ^ 

He slightly frowned, and with his eye 
He looked me through and through — 

"I'm just as big for me," said he, 
"As you are big for you !" 



43 



THE ORIGIN OF THE KISS 

He saw her lips and deemed them roses fair. 

A flower he strove to pluck, and it was this — 
I have it from a fairy who was there 
And saw it all while peeping from his lair — 

Gave first to man that perfect flower of bliss 
The Lover's kiss ! 



44 



LOVE'S DOMAIN 

For Government Republics I would choose, 
Wherein the Star of Liberty doth shine ; 

Where equal rights for all are all men's dues, 
And every man's a King by right divine ! 

But when it comes to Love — Autocracy ! 

Avaunt, ye Brotherhoods ! Ye are but vain ! 
No equal rights in Chloe's heart for me — 

I'd be the Czar of all that fair demesne ! 



45 



PHYLLIS: DISCIPLINARIAN 

Phyllis hath the strangest way 
When from rectitude I stray 
Into some by-path of sin 
Of bestowing discipline. 

Not a syllable of blame ! 
Not a scorching glance of flame ! 
Not a word, and not a look 
Comes to summon me to book — 

But, alas — oh, how it burns ! — 
Straight to otherward she turns, 
And for all that I can see 
Never seems aware of me. 

It is quite as though I were 
In a world apart from her ; 
On some planet void of mirth 
Countless leagues away from earth. 

Or as if — if there at all — 
I were such an atoin small 
That nobody'd be aware 
Of the fact that I was there. 
46 



Phyllis : Disciplinarian 

Then, when I wax penitent, 
'Neath this lashing punishment. 
Her forgiveness is so sweet 
That my lapse I oft repeat ! 

'Tis so blissful being shriven 
That I sin to be forgiven I 



47 



THE ROAD TO ARCADY 

Now tell me where is Arcady, is Arcady, is Arcady ! 
Now tell me where is Arcady, for that is where I'd be ! 
Is it beyond that golden line 
That dazzles so these eyes of mine, 

Far o'er the western sea ? 
Or is it over yonder height 
Whereon the sun is gleaming bright, 
And smiling happily ? 

Fw sought it, this many a year — 
Tve sought it far, I've sought it near, 
In days of joy, in days of drear — 
My well-beloved Arcady ! 

O Pilgrim fair to Arcady, to Arcady, to Arcady, 
O Pilgrim unto Arcady, I'll point the way to thee ! 
Seek thou two deeply sparkling eyes 
With hues as soft as summer skies. 

And full of love and glee. 
Two eyes that sparkle with delight, 
And at your coming glisten bright 
And twinkle merrily. 

For in their depths you'll find the way 
To golden scenes and pastures gay. 
To bowers where the love-birds play 
In an enchanted Arcady ! 
48 



The Road to Arcady 

O traveller to Arcady, to Arcady, to Arcady, 
O traveller to Arcady, take heart indeed from me ! 
The road to Arcady is not 
Along some dusty highway hot, 

And full of misery ; 
'Tis not a pathway drear, forlorn, 
With weary stretch, and full of thorn, 
Beyond some distant sea. 

But where there's love Hwixt man and maid, 
A love that cannot die, nor fade, 
You'll find the golden highway laid 
That leads to Arcady I 



49 



THE SONGS OF SPRING 



The silver brook came babbling down 
From yonder hill-top's snowy crown, 
And as he danced along 
He filled the air with song ; 

Right merrily 
He sang, and thus sang he : 

"The spring is here ! 

The path is clear 
For me to course my way 

Thro' woodland shade, 

And ferny glade, 
And o'er the mosses play ; 

To dance and prank 

Thro' flowery bank, 
Down to the river free. 

My heart's elate. 

For there doth wait 
The bride who loveth me. 

Who'll sing 
The gladsome songs of spring !" 

II 

The happy bird came flying North ; 
Out of the Southland came he forth, 
50 



The Songs of Spring 

And as he winged his way 
He sang his roundelay. 

Right joyously 
He sang, and thus sang he : 

"The spring hath come, 

And winter numb 
Hath sought his arctic home. 

The cherry-tree 

Hath sweets for me, 
And blossoms frolicsome. 

The forests deep 

So long asleep 
Now echo to the rhyme 

Of chaps like me 

WhoVe longed to see 
The joyous Mating-time, 

And sing 
The gladsome songs of spring ! " 

III 

The little bud came peeping out 
To see what it was all about, 
And when he spied the sky 
His song went rising high. 

Right daintily 
He sang, and thus sang he : 
"The days are soft. 
The sun's aloft. 
And soon will come the May. 
51 



The Songs of Spring 

In dainty hues 

In pinks and blues 
We'll decorate her way. 

With burgeoning 

Of petalled wing, 
We'll make her pathway sweet. 

We'll fill the air 

With fragrance rare 
Of roses at her feet, 
i And sing 
The gladsome songs of spring !" 



52 



IN LIGHTER STRAIN 



IN TROUTING TIME 

Now what care I for politics 

And all their mad and fooHsh tricks, 

And demagogic spouting ? 
We've reached the time of year so glad 
When men can drop the woe and gad 
Of daily cares and go, my lad. 

With rod and reel a-trouting ! 

Let business cares be what they may, 
Let happen what may hap to-day 

In all this world of doubting — 
I have no care, for free am I 
To take my rod, my reel, and fly, 
And to the distant rillets hie 

To ease my soul in trouting ! 

Prue may be cross, and Bess unkind. 
But naught I care ! I shall not mind 

Their frowning and their pouting. 
But from the social whirl I'll slip 
And to the vales and hillsides skip. 
And pool, and pond, and brooklet whip, 

In gay and joyous trouting. 

The rod, the reel, the hook, the line, 
And leafy ways and fish for mine ! 
55 



In Trouting Time 

I'm off upon my outing, 
'Mid byways peaceful and serene 
Up in the hills so softly green 
Where trouble never shows his mien 

The while I'm at my trouting ! 



56 



THE NEW SPAN 

" Scientists now declare that the ultimate span of man's years 
will be a hundred and fifty." — Daily Paper. 

If this the truth turns out to be 
O what a lot of things we'll see 
'Twixt now and mid-next-century ! 
A subway built to Liverpool 
Beneath the ocean deep and cool, 
All made of glass that we may view 
The mysteries beneath the blue ! 

An air-ship running to the moon 
Where lovers all may go to spoon, 
Its climate always May or June ! 
And possibly a branch to Mars, 
And all the other smiling stars. 
And for the chaps a-motoring 
A speedway built on Saturn's Ring ! 

New patent wings that we may fly 
At will across the spreading sky. 
Far up above the mountains high. 
Without a fear we'll bump our nose 
Upon the peaks, or stub our toes 
On jagged cliffs, or glacial heights — 
A pastime glad for summer nights ! 
57 



The New Span 

Cares all abolished ! Woe a dearth ! 
And for a nation full of mirth, 

UNITED STATES OF ALL THE EAETH ! 

And all the navies of the world 

Beneath the Red Cross Flag unfurled, 

Devoted to the Fresh Air Tots, 

Whose hard-worked parents own no yachts ! 

A time that's glad, a time that's good — 
A Universal Brotherhood, 
When nobody's misunderstood 1 
A sort of general Christmas-tide, 
With just Good Will on every side — 
If these are things that are to be, 
Bring on the years ! They'll do for me ! 



58 



THE KATYDIDS 

I WISH some Sage, some Philosophic Cid, 

With knowledge of the facts, or some invention, 
Would tell us what it was that Katy did 

That causes all this eventide contention. 
It must have been some very awful thing, 

Some naughty deed of wickedness immortal, 
The way the Dame's posterity doth sing 

About it every eve around my portal. 

At set of sun th' affirmatives begin, 

Yet bring no evidence to help the trial. 
Then t'other side for the defence put in 

An everlasting chorus of denial. 
And so it goes. They keep it up all night. 

All thoughts of rest, or hope of verdict scorning. 
With ne'er an end of any kind in sight 

When routed from the forum by the morning. 

It seems to me a foolish sort of row, 

And sad to see so many thousands nettled, 
When if we knew the charge perhaps somehow 

It might be compromised or wholly settled. 
At any rate I'm full of charity. 

And all the shrieking crew can count upon it 
Until the charge and proofs are brought to me 

I shan't believe that Katy ever "done" it ! 

59 



ARCHERY 

"Archeky's come in again !" 

So the Sporting Writers shout. 
I should Hke to know just when 

Archery was ever out. 
Long as I have been ahve 

Archers bold and archers fair 
Have been ruthless with the drive 

Of their arrows everywhere. 

There is Polly — archery 

Is her best accomplishment. 
sA Scores a bull's-eye clear and free 

Every time her bow is bent. 
True, an arrow seldom jflies 

When the lady snaps the chord — 
She just merely lifts her eyes 

And the hit is duly scored. 

Then Myrtilla — you should see 

Fair Myrtilla take a shot ! 
Makes her hits three out of three, 

Not a miss in all the lot. 
Myrtle's arrows they are smiles, 

Sped to pierce the human heart — 
She, like Polly, uses wiles 

Substituted for the dart. 
60 



Archery- 
Daphne too is champion 

In the arts of archery. 
She's a marvel on the run 

Where the best of archers be. 
Not a target in the world 

But doth score when Daphne shoots, 
Though no arrow e'er is hurled — 

Glances are her substitutes. 

'Ware these archer maids, O man ! 

They are too expert for you. 
Watch and ward you if you can, 

For their aim is deadly true. 
You may think yourself the "beau" 

In this little shooting game, 
But you'll find before you know 

You're the target just the same ! 



61 



YE RIME OF YE KNIGHTLIE COWARD 

"I WILL never love a coward !" quoth the Lady fair and 

bright. 
"Then you'll never love at all, Ma'am," answered her 
the doughty Knight. 

" Sometimes we know not where or when 
You'll surely find the best of men 

His back against the wall ! 
His noble heart distraught with fear, 
The cry of foemen in his ear, 
Who fights with savage lunge and leer 
Because he feels that death is near 
And does not dare to fall I 

" Sometimes we know not when or where 
The coward lurks beneath the air 

Of knightliest cavalier. 
Whatever things he seems to dare 
Spring not from courage, tried and rare, 
But that some doubting lady fair 

May not suspect his fear. 

"The wight who never feared a space 
Belongs not to the human race. 
He never lost, he never won ; 
Great deeds of might he may have done, 
62 



Ye Rime of Ye Knightlie Coward 

But no achievement of the heart 

Has ever fallen to his part ; 

And no one enters perfect bliss 

Who has not tasted cowardice, 

As I now taste it, standing here. 

Too cowardly, too filled with fear, 

To throw Love's gauntlet down and dare 

Your Ladyship, so loved, so fair. 

To pick it up and face with me 

The Tourney of What Is To Be !" 

Whereon the Lady, 'spite of what she'd said 
Herself the gauntlet threw straight at his head. 
And later on, I'm told, they twain were wed. 

"The way it came about," quoth she, "was this 
None but the Brave confess to Cowardice ; 
And I have always prayed my Lord might be 
A Knight to others, but — afraid of me !" 



63 



MAUDE MULLER 

Maude Mullee on a summer's day- 
Out in the meadows raked away. 

The Judge came by just as of yore, 
But when he gazed the meadows o'er 

In search of Maude, so sweetly fair, 
Was not aware that she was there, 

And so with spirits much cast down 
Kept sadly on his way to town. 

The trouble was, the maid's new hat 
She wore that day out on the jflat 

Loomed up so large both front and back 
The Judge mistook it for a stack, 

And never knew the lady gay 
Was not another load of hay. 



64 



THE WISDOM OF THE SPHINX 

I SOUGHT the Sphinx and asked advice 

On how to woo a heart of ice. 

She sat in silent majesty 

And ne'er a word vouchsafed to me, 

But with a cold and vacant stare 

In frigid stillness rested there ; 

But soon her answer cleft my pate — 

Her pose replied, "In patience wait !" 

"How shall I circumvent," quoth I, 

"The rival who is always nigh. 

And fills my anxious soul with fear 

Lest he shall win what I hold dear ? " 

I pleaded hard, and still the same 

Deep silence for my portion came ; 

Yet soon I saw, to my delight. 

The answer was, "Sit tight ! Sit tight I" 

Again, encouraged, I drew near 
And whispered in the Sphinx's ear : 
"WTiat need I most to win Babette, 
On whom my doting heart is set ? 
What quality of strengthful men 
Must I acquire to hope again ? " 
Her glance went speeding o'er the land, 
And there I found my answer — "Sand !" 
F 65 



AT THE OPERA 

Aye, truth you speak, and I the words repeat — 
The music at the Opera was sweet. 
I've hstened to the lowing of the herds, 
I've sat enthralled by measures of the birds. 
I've heard the lilt that penetrates the vale 
When falling twilight spurs the Nightingale 
To songs as sweet as ever those that ring 
Through Heaven's streets when happy Angels sing. 

Yet none of these hath ever seemed so rare 
As those sweet measures, tuneful past compare. 
That fell upon my listening ears last night. 
And filled my soul with rapture and delight. 
What Opera was it ? Well, I cannot say 
If it were Wagner, Verdi, or Bizet — 
The music I refer to was the chime 
Of Daphne 's voice a-babbling all the time. 



66 



A LEAP-YEAR DILEMMA 

Now what the dickens shall I do ? 
I bring my cry for help to you — 
On every side deep woe besets ; 
My heart runs over with regrets, 
For I'm the kind of chap, I trow, 
That never learned to answer "No !" 

Whate'er a maiden asks of me, 

No matter what the favor be, 

I always promptly answer "Yes," 

And hence hath risen my distress — 

Distress indeed of such a kind 

That it has nearly wrecked my mind. 

Last week I called on fair Babette, 

On Susan, Bess, and dear Janette ; 

On Genevieve, Matilda, Jane, 

Priscilla, Prue, and Madeleine ; 

And — how my poor heart whirls and whirrs 

Each maiden asked me to be heks! 

'Twas "Yes" to Bab, and "Yes" to Prue; 
'Twas "Yes" to Genevieve and Sue; 
Twas "Yes" to Madeleine, and "Yes" 
To Jane, Priscilla, Mat, and Bess — 
And quite a dozen others too — 
O what the dickens shall I do ! 

67 



PEGASUS: HIS SINECURE 

I MET old Pegasus to-day 

While circling through the air ; 
He seemed as frisky and as gay 

As when the gods were there. 
His sides were sleek, his eye was keen. 

His mane was freshly groomed ; 
His stride and sweep were just as clean 

As when Parnassus bloomed. 

I hailed him with a deal of joy, 

For Pegasus and I, 
Long years ago when I, a boy. 

Aspired to soar the sky. 
Were on good terms, and now and then 

He'd tiptoe in at night 
And take me from the realms of men 

On some romantic flight. 

"Dear Pegasus !" I gayly cried. 

"My good old friend of yore. 
In all your glory and your pride 

You glad my eyes once more ! 
I feared you dead, or even worse. 

Dear Pegasus, alack. 
To judge from sundry modern verse 

Hitched to some shabby hack ! 
68 



Pegasus: His Sinecure 

''I feared perhaps like steeds below, 

Once sturdy, strong, and fleet, 
You'd come upon those days of woe 

That proved you obsolete ; 
No longer driven by the hand 

Of singers temerous 
Whose labors in this day demand 

An Auto-Pegasus !" 

"Neigh ! Neigh !" he whinnied with a smile. 

"I'm happy as can be. 
I've got a new job of a style 

That suits me to a T. 
I'm stationed on these airy lanes — 

A fairly easy berth — 
To tow the stranded Aeroplanes 

Back to the solid earth !" 



69 



THE END OF THE QUARREL 

•~\ 

I PASSED her by with noisy tread, 
But she, she never raised her head. 
But read, and read, and read, and read. 

She'd turn the pages o'er and o'er. 
And on each printed Hne she'd pore 
As if she'd never read before. 

I hemmed, and coughed, and hummed an air ; 
I sneezed, and stamped, and scraped my chair 
To intimate that I was there. 

But ne'er a glance gave she to me. 
She simply read on steadily. 
As wholly rapt as rapt could be. 

And then I spoke, " My dearest Prue," 
Said I, "if I've offended you 
I'm sorry, and if I but knew — " 

She raised her head and with a glance 
As distant as the coast of France — 
The kind the poets call askance — 

"Excuse me, sir," she said, so cold 
I feared that I'd been overbold, 
"I'm reading. I've no wish to scold — " 

70 



The End of the Quarrel 

And then despite her angry frown 

My laughter almost reached the town — 

The hook she held was upside down ! 

What I got then it were remiss 

To set down in a verse like this ; 

But it was sweet and rhymed with ^^ bliss' 



71 



SIGHT SEEING 

I CLIMBED a tree so high one day 

I saw around the world. 
I saw the Bay of old Biscay, 

And Spanish flags unfurled. 
My vision wandered o'er the snow 

And ice of Alpine peaks, 
Then sought the tempered vales below 

And lingered 'mongst the Greeks. 

I looked across the broad Black Sea, 

Past mountains of Thibet ; 
And further to the Siamee, 

And China's ocean wet. 
Mine eye passed o'er the Philippines 

To Honolulu fair, 
And thence unto the lovely greens 

Nigh Pasadena rare. 

Thence eastward o'er the Rockies to 

The Mississippi's shores, 
Chicago next, then Buffalo, 

Past where Niagara roars. 
Across the State of York I peered 

Through Adirondack spruce. 
By Utica's green places veered. 

Thence on to Syracuse. 
72 



Sight Seeing 

Next Albany, and rare Cohoes, 

Thence onward to the font 
Whence doughty Ethan Allen rose, 

The green hills of Vermont ; 
Across New Hampshire's peaks so tall 

My vision homeward sped, 
And there, most welcome sight of all. 

The back of my own head ! 



73 



THE PLAINT OF UNCLE EBENEZER 

I'm sort of tired of things that is ; 
They're lackin' somewhat as to fizz. 
There ain't no ginger in Hfe's jar 
With things a-goin' as they are. 
The fault may be with me, and then 
It may be otherwise again — 
I ain't a-tryin' to fix no blame 
Becuz all tastes about the same. 

Howe'er it be I wish we might 
Find things reversed a bit some night. 
So that instead of as they be 
They'd work towards the contrary. 
I'd like to see some mountain rill 
Have spunk enough to flow up hill, 
So that old Nature might be shown 
It had opinions of its own. 

I'd like to see the settin' sun 
Out in the East when day is done, 
Just as a hint when goin' to bed 
To prove it wasn't bigoted. 
I'd like to hear a bull-frog sing 
Like Nightingales upon the wing 
Instead of that eternal "chunk" 
With which he seeks his swampy bunk. 
74 



The Plaint of Uncle Ebenezer 

A cat that barks ; a dog that miaows. 
And when it comes to milkin' cows 
'Twould cheer me up to get a pail 
Of lemonade or ginger-ale ; 
And if the bucket in the well 
Would give up watter for a spell 
And bring me up some fresh root-beer 
There'd be no kick a-comin' here. 

^Tain't discontent that's vexin' me 
With life so everlastin'ly 
But just a sort o' parchin' thirst 
To get a peek at things reversed. 
They Ve been the same so very long 
A change would strike me pretty strong, 
And though I'm makin' no complaint 
For once I'd like 'em as they ain't ! 



75 



INCORPORATED 

She said on Monday she'd be mine 

Forever and for aye. 
On Tuesday with a smile divine 

She said the same to Jay. 
On Wednesday eve this maiden fair 

Our hearts were set upon 
Gave up a tress of golden hair 

To pledge her troth to John. 

On Thursday Reginald came by, 

And late on Thursday night 
With softly whispered, loving sigh 

She made his future bright. 
On Friday James appeared, and she 

Just as to us before 
With beaming eyes declared she'd be 

His own forevermore. 

On Saturday 'twas Abraham 

Who won her much-sought hand, 
Although that morn she'd promised Sam 

To meet him on the sand ; 
And Sunday evening after church 

Beneath the lunar glim 
She promised rich old Billy Birch 

That she'd be true to him. 
76 



Incorporated 

And that is why we swains have met 

Down by the summer sea 
There in the damp and sodden wet 

To form a Company — 
To form The Prudence Syndicate, 

And float a milHon shares, 
A market for them to create 

Amongst the miUionaires. 

Our Assets, one small bit of fluff 

With mighty "taking" ways. 
And hand that seems quite big enough 

For sixty fiances — 
Step up, all ye who wish to win 

A roomy heart and true. 
And buy a block of "Common" in 

Amalgamated Prue ! 



77 



THE WISDOM OF SILAS 

Faith ? That's sure believin' 
Things that look deceivin', 
And their ways behoovin' 
Though they can't be proven. 

Hope ? That is a feelin' 
That comes o'er ye stealin' 
In the midst o' sorrer 
You'll be gay tomorrer. 

Chakity ? That's givin' 
Suthin' of your livin' 
To some one or other 
Like he was your Brother. 

ViKTUE ? That is suthin' 
That don't bring ye nuthin' 
But a pleasant i-dee 
That you're boney-fidee. 

Love ? That's suthin' funny, 
Sort o' bright and sunny, 
That comes up and nabs ye 
When the right gal grabs ye. 
78 



The Wisdom of Silas 

If ye get these five 'uns, 
Keep 'em good and hve 'uns. 
Sure as I'm a sinner 
You'll come out a winner ! 



79 



TO FORTUNE: A PRAYER 

Hear, O Fortune, prithee hear — 

To my pleading lend an ear : 

I come asking not for gold 

More than can my coffers hold ; 

I seek not a bank-account 

Of a fabulous amount ; 

Jewels brilliant, gems galore, 

I have little liking for ! 

I don't want of £. s. d. 

So much that 'twill worry me ; 

Acres broad, and real estate. 

Vaults all bulging with the weight 

Of the bonds of steel and oil 

For which countless thousands toil. 

Stocks that rise and stocks that fall 

Don't appeal to me at all — 

But the burden of my prayer 

Is ENOUGH, and some to spare ! 

Give me this, with Love, and Song, 
And I guess I'll get along. 



80 



THE UP-TO-DATE FARMER 

He was a farmer up to date. He knew each why and 

how. 
He had pink ribbons on his gate, and straw hats for 

each cow. 
He also had a Morris chair a-fastened to his plough. 

He had a phonograph to call the wandering kine at e'en, 
And all the grass upon his lawns was freshly painted 

green — 
A greener place than his I don't believe was ever seen. 

Upon the scarecrow in the field he placed a beaver hat. 
And on its feet were brand-new boots, each covered 

with a spat ; 
And where the scarecrow's stomach was looked pros- 
perous and fat. 

The farm-hands all wore jackets red, and worked with 

polished hoes, 
And in the lapel of each coat was placed a Beauty Rose, 
And little coons held parasols to shade each worker's 

nose. 

The wheels of all his whirring wains were tied to 
gramophones 

G 81 



■> 



The Up-to-Date Farmer 

That sounded pretty waltzes, 'stead of noisy creaks 

and groans 
When straining o'er the country roads of thank-ye- 

marms and stones. 

At eve when sunset's lovely glow made all the sky a 

prism 
He called the farm-hands with a horn and kept them 

free of schism 
With little talks on "Simple Life," "Sunshine," and 

"Pragmatism." 

His horses he provided all with bedsteads made of brass, 
And every pillow 'neath their heads was made of fresh- 
cut grass. 
And those that couldn't sleep were lulled to rest with 
laughing-gas. 

The pigs were scrubbed with Silver Dust, and white- 
washed white as snow. 

And in each pen hung copies of rare paintings by 
Rousseau, 

With here and there a Whistler, or a lithographed Corot. 

His sheep were never sheared at all — marcelled was 

every hair. 
And every ram upon the place had quite a polished 

air — 
By proper treatment e'en a goat becomes quite 

debonair. 

82 



y 



The Up-to-Date Farmer 

The bulls were up on etiquette, and if by day or night 
You met them strolling in the fields were ever most 

polite — 
I don't believe Lord Chesterfield was a more charming 

sight. 

And so with everything he had. This farmer up to 
date 

Had things as fine as fine could be from barn-yard to 
the gate — 

His hay-scales e'en were covered with a wash of nickel- 
plate. 

And though he seldom raised a bean, potato, or a 

pea. 
He waxed as fat and prosperous as one could wish to 

be 
Who tried to live the farmer's life, as did his wife and 

he; 

For thousands came from far and wide, on foot, by 

train, a-wheel. 
To see this wondrous farm of his, if it was truly real — 
And these he charged ten dollars for a thirty-five cent 

meal, 

Until his coffers waxed as fat as those of Mr. Guelph — 
He simply rolled in silver, gold, and other kinds of 

pelf — 
If so you don't believe it figure out the thing yourself. 

83 



The Up-to-Date Farmer 

And then besides he added much each month unto his 

means 
By writing articles on Beets, and Thornless Lima 

Beans, 
The which were snapped up eagerly, and used by 

magazines. ^ 

From all of which I gather in a general sort of way 
Those folks are talking foolishly who rise them up to 

say 
In accents full of sympathy that Farming doesn't pay. 



84 



DIPLOMACY 

If you know a little lady 

With a tongue that's rather tart, 
And a liking for the shady 

Bits of gossip of the mart, 
And she tells a tale about you 

That she knows to be untrue, 
Causing many folks to doubt you, 
What is it that you should do ? 
No ! You mustn't use the phrases you would use about 

a man. 
Turn and sound the lady's praises just as loudly as you 

can. 
Never call a dame "Sapphira!" Such a course 

would hardly pay. 
'Twill be heaping coals to fire her, should you say : 



" She is gifted with that elusive 
charm that is sometimes found in 
a woman endowed by Nature with 
a constitutional infirmity of verbal 
purpose." 



Put it neatly, and discreetly. 
Put it sweetly, with an air 
85 



Diplomacy 

That you're saying something pleasant of your enemy 
so fair. 

Put it nicely, and concisely, 

Put it wisely — with a twist — 
And you'll gain a reputation as a great Diplomatist ! 

If you have a Taxicabby 

With a granite sort of face. 
And a muscle far from flabby, 

As is frequently the case, 
And he charges you a dollar 
For a quarter mile or two. 
And you feel you ought to holler — 
What's the thing for you to do ? 
No ! You mustn't use the phrases you would use to 

smaller fry. 
Chaps with such peculiar faces are a menace to the eye. 
Never call the cabby *'Loafek!" Such a course 

would hardly pay — 
It will freeze that pirate Chauffeur should you say : 



" Really, my good sir, I had sup- 
posed that Ali Baba and his Forty 
Pals had passed over the Great Divide. 
When did you all return? " 



Put it neatly, and discreetly. 
Put it sweetly, with an air 
86 



Diplomacy 
That you're saying something pleasant — Then forget 

TO PAY YOUR FARE ! 

Do it chicly, politic-ly. 
Fading quickly from his fist, 
And you'll gain a reputation as a great Diplomatist ! 

If your friend has penned a novel 

That you know is very bad. 
There's no need to go and grovel 

Just to make the fellow glad. 
When he asks you if you like it. 
And you wish to tell him true 
That he really ought to hike it 
Up the literary flue — 
No I You mustn't use the phrases you would use to 

give the hook 
In the ordinary cases to a dull and stupid book. 
Do not call his novel ^'Drivel!" Such a course 

would hardly pay. 
It will be a deal more civil should you say : 



" Yes, Henry, Fve read your novel, 
and by the way, while on that subject, 
did you ever think of taking up 
plumbing as a profession f They 
tell me it is very profitable." 



Put it neatly, and discreetly, 
Put it sweetly, with an air 
87. 



Diplomacy 

That you're saying something pleasant to a genius 
rather rare. 

Put it gently, innocently, 

Incident'ly, hit or missed, 
And you'll gain a reputation as a great Diplomatist ! 



88 



THE WORLD, DR. 

The World owed me my share of bread, 

My meed of joy and pleasure. 
It owed me roof, and chair, and bed. 

My share likewise of leisure. 
It owed me clothing for my back. 

And cash wherewith to fund it. 
So I went out upon its track, 

And night and day I dunned it. 

With brain, and brawn, and energy, 

My powers all releasing, 
I dunned it on the land and sea, 

With labor all unceasing. 
I dunned it with the sweat of brow. 

No chances ever scorning. 
My hand was ever at the plough 

With each recurrent morning. 

No matter where the world lay hid 

I constantly pursued it. 
And what man could do that I did — 

I threatened it and wooed it. 
The debt it owed all fully paid 

I constantly demanded, 
Nor would I ever be gainsaid 

When Mr. World seemed stranded. 
89 



The World, Dr. 

The food was there, the joy was there ; 

The roof, the bed, the table, 
And cash enough, and some to spare 

Like treasure in the fable ; 
And back of all the needs of life 

In most abundant measure 
Lay sweet relief from rush and strife 

In golden days of leisure. 

And thus I dunned, and dunned, and dunned. 

Incessantly, untiring. 
And soon instead of being shunned 

I found the World admiring. 
And then it paid, and yet the more 

My credit balance showed me 
There seemed in an increasing store 

No end to what it owed me ! 

ENVOY 

The World is glad to pay its stakes, 

Nor wishes to reject them. 
To every Creditor who takes 

The trouble to collect them. 



90 



THE JUNKMAN 

A Literary Parable 

NiBBS wrote for years, and years, and years 

Poor wight ! His harvest was but tears, 

For every line he wrote, alack. 

Came like a homing-pigeon back. 

Until his dwelling was packed full 

Of manuscripts unsalable, 

And all his walls in endless strips 

Were papered with rejection slips. 

His cellar held quite twenty score 
Of Tales of Love, and maybe more, 
And every book-shelf in the place 
Ran o'er with stories of the chase. 
In bureau drawer, in trunk and chest. 
In highboy, lowboy, packed and pressed. 
Lay sketches, novelettes, and rhymes. 
Which he had penned at sundry times. 

He caught the measles, and at last 
From out this vale of tears he passed ; 
But where he went to none can say — 
We only know he passed away. 
His widow wed again, a wight 
Who called the Junkman in one night. 
And as waste-paper sold that store 
Of stories Nibbs had struggled o'er. 

91 



The Junkman 

*Twas then there dawned upon the land 
A miracle of genius grand — 
A man who'd never gone to school, 
Yet reeled off tales as from a spool — 
An endless spool at that, and who 
Though rough the Muses fair could woo, 
As did the bards of Queen Bett's age — 
The Junkman Poet was the rage. 

The Junkman's novels had a sale 
That turned the Six Best Sellers pale, 
And publishers in frenzied race 
Outbid each other in the chase 
For storied stuff he had to sell. 
And those who got it did right well, 
For everywhere folks raved the while 
About the Junkman's "splendid style." 

The moral ? Well, I've sometimes thunk 
He waxeth fat who deals in junk ! 



92 



FISHIN' 

Don't ye talk to me of work ! 

I'm jest goin' fishin' 
Where the speckled beauties lurk. 

Round the pools a-swishin'. 
Ne'er a thought have I of care, 
Settin' on a green bank there, 
Drinkin' in the soft June air. 

Void of all ambition ! 

I don't care much what I ketch, 

Long as I am anglin'. 
What I carry, what I fetch. 

On my string a-danglin'. 
Makes no difference to me — 
Some or none, whiche'er it be — 
While I'm off there wholly free 

From all scenes of wranglin'. 

Fishin' ain't jest ketchin' fish 

In a pond or river — 
Though a fresh trout on a dish 

Makes ye sort o' shiver — 
Fishin' s settin' on some spot 
Where it's neither cold ner hot. 
Without thinkin' on your lot — 

Fortune, love, or liver. 
93 



Fishin' 

Fishings gettin' far away 
From all noise and flurry ; 

Gettin' off where you can play 
Nothings in a hurry ; 

There to sort o' loaf, and set, 

Blind to all the things that fret, 

And forgettin' all regret, 
Quarrils, cares, and worry. 

Yessir ! I'll give up ambition. 
And fer fame and fortune wishin' 
Any day to go a-fishin' ! 



94 



ON A STORMY MAY-DAY 

May hath forgot her manners, I do fear — 
This fairest child of all the gladsome year 
Comes in with poutings, and with suller mien. 
Instead of smiling like a vernal Queen. 
She's weeping too, with frowns upon her brow, 
And truly hath forgot her pleasant bow. 
Egad ! I guess the reason for her woes. 
Rude April leaving trod upon her toes ! 



95 



A-E-I-O-U 

A COMETH first, and all because 

Of certain Alphabetic Laws. 

We'd have no Alphabet to-day 

If we had not that vowel A, 

Because, it's just as sure as sin, 

We can't have things that don't begin. 

/ E Cometh second, if you please, 

Although some folks place first their Ease. 
I love it well because, you see 
If you have wit, it's half of me ; 
Without it I should have no feet. 
And nothing in the world to Eat. 

I? Well, I'm rather fond of 7 
Although I work it strenuously. 
'Tis somewhat personal, and it 
Is quite the centre of all Wit. 
And though you'll find it in distress 
It's never wanting Happ-i-ness. 

is a vowel I admire — 
Though what I owe is often dire ! 
And though 'tis Naught, it's part of gold ; 
'Tis in each Joy that we behold. 
And Love could hardly be the same 
If we'd no to spell its name. 
96 



A-E-I-O-U 

The last is U. Well, I should call 

This vowel quite the best of all. 

Let me have U and I'll give o'er 

The blessings of the other four. 

The reason ? Ah, dear Heart, 'tis true ! 

It's just because, my Love, it's you ! 



97 



X 



A CONFESSION 

Such matters it perhaps were best for us to hold sub 

rosa. 
Yet 'tother night when Prue I caught beneath the 
mistletoe, sir, 

I kissed her twice — 
I kissed her thrice — 
And every one sub nosa ! 



98 



A LEGEND OF THE STRAND 

'Tis said an author who had starved to death 
Went walking some years after he had lost his breath 
In spirit up Fleet Street, then down the Strand 
And found himself before a Bookman's stand. 
"What's this ?" he mused, as in his hand 

A book 

He took. 
"Dear me, my verse !" he cried, and kissed the tome. 
" You killed me — cost me roof, and hearth, and home. 

To publish you I spent 

My last red cent. 

But none would buy, 
And I 
Was soon the sorry shadow of my former self, 
While you lay snugly on my dusty shelf. 

Heigho I" he sighed. 

" You were my pride. 
And ruin V Quoth the Book, "Not so — 
You died too soon to really know. 

I have become 
A rarity, and worth a wondrous sum, 

And through me now 
You wear a bright green laurel on your brow ! " 

E'en as the volume spake 
A mortal came, the little book did take. 
And as the spirit watched him from the shade 
Some twenty pounds for it he forthwith paid. 

99 



A Legend of the Strand 

"Egad V the author cried, as back he sped 
To Hades, " I have resting on my head 
Enough of hay entwined to feed a horse ! 
I^m proud of that — O yes, I am, of course. 
But what a shame to decorate 
An author's pate 
And leave his stomach to disintegrate !" 



100 



AS TO LINEAGE 

"First families" are very fine, 

If one believes in caste. 
Tis very well to have a line 
Of Ancestors for eons nine — 
Fair Eve and Adam started mine — 

But, take it first and last, 
There's little in a family tree 

Whose fruit has gone to seed ; 
'Tis better far for one to be 
A mushroom minus pedigree, 
But of the best variety 

In character and deed. 

My boast is not of how I trace 

My line to noble Guelph, 
Or other leaders in the race, 
But how I'm going to win a place, 
However fast or hot the pace, 

As Ancestor myself : 
So that, when all is over here, 

Up in that realm of bliss. 
My forebears back to Adam's year 
When I arrive will loudly cheer. 
And whisper in their neighbors' ear 

"We're relatives of his ! " 
101 



THE PRANKSOME MUSES 

The Poet knew the Rules of Song, 

And never got a measure wrong. 

The Ploughman knew no laws of rhyme, 

Yet was he singing all the time. 

The Ploughman voiced his simple heart. 

The Poet practised well his Art. 

The twain Parnassus climbed one day 
And met the Muses, so they say. 
And when the wreaths were given out 
The Poet got none, but the lout 
Who sped the plough, by Helicon, 
They put a pea-green laurel on ! 



102 



FATE 

What care I if Fate hath written 
What my destiny shall be ? 

That's no reason to be sittin' 
Down thro' all eternity. 

I'll be up, and I'll be doin'. 
Careless of the by-and-by, 

And, whatever Fate is brewin', 
Have a finger in the pie ! 



103 



THE SPECIALISTS 

It was a blithe Conductor on an urban trolley-line, 
His uniform was spandy, and his buttons they were fine. 
I asked him would he tell me where I ought to leave 

the tram 
To get the nearest Ferry to North Central Rotterdam. 
He paid me no attention but danced gayly down the 

aisle 
With very supercilious and irritating smile. 
Again I put the question, and he coldly answered me : 
" When seeking information ask Conductor Twenty- 

three!" 
His specialty I now saw well 
Was merely jingling of a bell. 

I rushed into a restaurant to get a hasty meal 

And told the waiter I should like a little bit of veal. 

He wandered off. An hour passed. I summoned him 

once more, 
And gave again the order I had given him before. 
He gazed out through the window with a look quite 

far away ; 
About his lips a furtive smile was making a display. 
'' Fm very sorry/' he remarked. "The veal-man isn't 

here. 
But when he comes I'll tell him what you want avec plaisir,'' 
^Twas then I learned this precious clam 
Served nothing else but pickled ham. 
104 



The Specialists 

The pipes were bursting everywhere, and floods were 

all about. 
The parlor was so flooded the piano floated out. 
The dining-room was deluged with a freshet so immense 
It made the storied Ganges look like twenty-seven cents. 
I quickly 'phoned the plumber, and he answered me at 

once, 
But acted like a copper-fastened, armor-plated dunce. 
" Why don't you get to work f'l cried, so mad I scarce 

could speak. 
" You asked me what the matter was," said he, "and 

it's a leak." 
His sphere was of the special type 
Of merely looking at a pipe. 

Some time ago quite carelessly I fell into the sea. 

The water was so deep and rough 'twas quite too much 
for me. 

I felt myself a-going down, and then with maddened 
yelp 

I called to some one on the shore imploring speedy help. 

He waved his hand most affably and said he wished he 
might 

Do something that would help me in my most distress- 
ing plight. 

'' I'm sorry, friend," he roared to me. "I'd help you 
if I could. 

But I'm devoting all my time to chopping kindling-wood." 
And that is how it came to be 
That I was drownded in the sea ! 
105 



PHYLLIS AT THE CUSTOM HOUSE 

She vowed she'd nothing to declare, 
Altho' some forty trunks were there, 
And all were filled with objects rare. 

The Customs men pried ope the trunks 
As solemn as a tribe of monks. 
And things came out in solid chunks. 

Tiaras, necklaces, and crowns ; 

A baker's dozen Paris gowns 

In lovely pinks, and blues, and browns. 

Furs of all kinds from seals to cats ; 
Three solid hampers filled with hats, 
All held in place by wooden slats. 

She'd stockings by the dozens — silk, 
And open-work, and of that ilk. 
As lacy and as white as milk. 

And gloves — of gloves I sadly fear 
She had enough for forty year — 
I know they covered half the pier. 
106 



Phyllis at the Custom House 

And laces — my, what lace they found ! 
^Twas hardly half of it unwound 
Before it covered all around. 

And lingerie — well, I don^t know 
Just what she had, but this is so : 
The pier seemed full of drifted snow ! 

And so it went, still more and more. 
Those trunks revealed a wondrous store 
Of lovely objects by the score. 

And she as cool as she could be 
Sat there and dimpled prettily 
At the Inspectors and at me. 

A picture of such virtue strong 
That not a man in all that throng 
Believed her capable of wrong. 

"You call this nothing, Ma'am ?" they said. 
She smiled and bowed her pretty head, 
As free as Innocence from dread. 

"Of course I do," she made reply. 

"They're nothing" — here she winked her eye — 

'^ Compared to what I didn't buy ! " 

And I'll be sworn, for it is true. 
Those dazed inspectors let her through ! 

107 



THE CURRICULUM OF LOVE 

A College Professor has suggested the desirability of es- 
tablishing a course in Love Making in our Universities. 

— Daily Newspaper. 

They'll doubtless teach the maiden wise 

How best to use her sparkHng eyes, 

And with a glance flashed through the dark 

Unerringly to hit the mark. 

They'll teach her, natheless, how to say 

Her Lover " No " in such a way 

That he'll discern in his distress 

A "No" is oft a form of "Yes." 

They'll take a maiden free of guile 
And teach her clearly how to smile 
Flirtatiously, yet innocent 
Of consequences consequent. 
They'll lecture her on "Methods Sure 
To hold a Wavering Swain Secure," 
And all the other sundry arts 
To make her Bachelor of Hearts. 

As for the lads, they'll teach them " Fine 
Points of the Eternal Feminine" ; 
They'll show them how, when they would please, 
All maidens go by contraries ; 

108 



The Curriculum of Love 

How when they smile on other men 
And turn from one, nine times in ten 
That one they love, and do this thing 
To tie him to their apron-string. 

They'll teach them signals of alarms. 
Just when and where to "take to arms," 
And how the eye that's turned away 
Means "come again some other day"; 
How tears may be a sign of joy. 
And frowns no more than a decoy ; 
And when great crises must be faced 
How best to utilize the waist. 



109 



THE DEEPER NOTE 



THE DEEPER NOTE 

" I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers." 

— Herrick. 

To sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and trees, 

And all the rare things of the summer-tide. 
When joy's a-wing upon the playful breeze. 

And every prospect's smiling as a bride — 
Aye, that were sweet ! All worthy themes for song. 

Each speaks the bounty of a lavish earth — 
The blessings rare that rightly do belong 

To them that seek the treasuries of mirth. 

Yet would I pause the while and seek a theme 

In ways less smiling than the country-side. 
In far-off scenes of stress I sometimes seem 

To find a voice that will not be denied — 
A voice that mid the arid scenes of woe 

Still lifts itself on high in notes of cheer 
Hath for my soul a richer, deeper glow 

Than happy bird-notes in the morning clear. 

Who sings amid the joyous fields of peace 

Where all is sweet, and fresh, and lushly green. 
But gives an inward happiness release. 

And adds new glories to a gloried scene ; 
But he whose song springs forth from care and strife. 

Like an oasis in some desert plain. 
His is the song that gives the hopeless life. 

And thrills with living joy the heart of pain ! 
I 113 



THE ROSE 

The Rose was born, 
She bloomed, and died. 

"A lot forlorn," 
Some mortal cried. 

"A few brief days 

Of life, a breath 
Like summer haze. 

And thence to death !" 

Ah well, that's life ! 

Our years are brief. 
Some joy, some strife. 

And then relief. 

How joyous she. 

How free from woes. 
To live, and be, 

And die, a Rose ! 



114 



IN ABSENTIA 

Alone ? Not I, indeed ! Though thou art gone, 
And countless leagues between our paths we see, 
I'm not, and never shall be, quite alone 
The while one blissful thought 

In memory caught 
Of thee abides with me. 

Mine eye still holds the glory of thy face. 
Remembered smiles my solitude rejoice. 
And in despite the ban of Time and Space 
Within my soul I hear. 

Still ringing clear. 
The music of thy voice ! 



115 



THE WAITING INSTRUMENT 

I BLAME no man for failure here, for he 
Who wins no crown is Hke an instrument 

That silent waits the Master's touch to free 
The noble numbers that within are pent. 

Untouched and unawake, and still it stands, 
Despite the glorious measures it contains — 

Who knows but that in those diviner lands 
'Twill swell the songs of Heaven with its strains ? 



116 



MIRACLES 

You ask for miracles, my friend ? Ah, well, 

Perhaps your eyes are blind and cannot see. 
I seek them too, and find them, truth to tell, 
Where'er I look, in sky, on hill, in dell. 
And when the summer weaves its magic spell, 
The Rose alone's a miracle to me ! 



117 



THE DREAMER 

Chide not the Dreamer, but more wisely hold 
His dreams more precious than refined gold. 
Had men not dreamed of greater things to be, 
Then lesser things on every side we'd see. 

The fancies of the bygone centuries 

Are counted 'mongst to-day's realities 

And form the firm foundation on which Youth 

Doth surer rear the edifice of Truth ! 



118 



A LOVE SONG 

Speak not to me of parting here — 

I will not have it so ! 
One of us may in some dread year, 

Some year of chill and snow, 
Pass on, but part ? By all above, 

That we shall never do, 
For you are all myself, my Love, 

And I am one with you ! 

You may be called to some far spot. 

On some blest errand bent, 
And leave me here to moan my lot 

In grievous discontent. 
But parted ? Never ! Dire defeat 

Dogs those who'd make us two. 
For you are all myself, my Sweet, 

And I am one with you ! 

My spirit intertwines with yours, 

And yours is woof of mine. 
And long as Love itself endures 

'Twill find therein a shrine. 
No earthly chance can tear apart. 

Nor sever tie so true. 
Whilst you are all myself, my Heart, 

And I am one with you ! 
119 



TO TIME 

"Turn back, O Time !" the aged cry. 
"O give us back the days gone by !" 

"Haste thee, O Time !" the Youth implores, 
"Fast lead me on to Fortune's doors !" 

For me, dear Time, I do but pray 
That thou wilt linger here To-day ! 



120 



BETTER THAN GOLD 

The Midas touch no blessing were 
To him who loves the green 

That 'neath the silken spring-time air 
Lends lustre to the scene ; 

Who loves the red of petalled rose, 
The hues of blossoms glad ; 

The beauty of the garden close 
In vernal colors clad ; 

The luscious cherry of the lips, 
And pink cheeks of a maid, 

Whereon the lover fondly sips . 
His nectar unafraid ! 

Now who would envy Midas much 

And suffer all the loss 
That needs must follow on the touch 

That turns these sweets to dross ? 



121 



AS TO YESTERDAY 

" All one dark yesterday.'! — American Poet. 

"Dark yesterdays V Ah, say not so ! 
Our yesterdays have faded into night, 
Yet are they bright, 
And in the memory still they glow. 
The voices of those yesterdays 
Now hushed in silence still resound 
In echoing roundelays 
That in the heart abound. 
The youth of other days now passed to age — 
That is not dead 
As some have said. 
But with its light illumes our spirit page. 

The friends of yesterday, no more 
Beside us as they were in days of yore. 
Still linger here in spirit, glorious, 

A part of us, 
Held safe within where neither grief nor pain 
Can come to them again. 
"Dark yesterdays ?" call them not so. 
Possessions, rather, full of light are they 
That sorrow cannot touch, and woe 
Can never take away ! 



122 



A VISION OF LOSS 

Here in the midst of quiet sylvan scenes 

All sweet with pine, and rich with lovely greens, 

I dreamed last night a splendid City grew — 

Broad boulevard, and gleaming avenue ; 

And towering walls of stately palaces 

Reared their proud height. Where yonder woodland is 

A shining marble Temple lifted high 

Its massy front in frigid majesty. 

Where lurks the keen-eyed fox, great dwelHngs stood, 

Wherein were housed a restless multitude 

Of busy folk engaged in gainful toil, 

Their haunted eyes all hungering for spoil. 

The music of the countryside, the bird, ' 

The lowing of the kine, no more was heard, 

But everywhere the rumble, void of heart, 

Of the incessant pressure of the mart. 

Yon silver stream that flashes in its flight 
Had vanished wholly from all mortal sight. 
And passing o'er its one-time pebbly bed 
Ran iron ways that bore on, overhead. 
Huge steel-wrought carriages, filled to the full 
With travellers, their faces tense and dull. 
To beauty blinded in their daily meed 
Of toilsome effort and of selfish deed. 

123 



A Vision of Loss 

Yon fair expanse of lushly fertile fields 

Bore naught of grain, but cold, reluctant yields 

Of coined gold, and lanes where Nature's flowers 

Shed fragrance over countless elfin bowers 

Were bordered now with rows of shops that thrust 

Their wares on throngs mad with the money-lust ; 

And all the quiet of these vales of rest 

Gave way to raucous shriekings of the quest. 

Alas ! What dismal fate, ye scenes divine 1 
\Miat horrorific transformation thine ! 
Must Nature's Temples, void of strife and shame, 
Give way to such things in fair Progress' name ? 
Is it thy fate, O Woodland of my Soul, 
To prosper thus, and thus to harbor dole ? 
My heart grew heavy with a sodden pain, 
And I awoke, and all was peace again. 



124 



AS TO OTHER WORLDS 

Whatever other worlds may be, 

Wherever be those realms of bliss, 
I only hope that those I see 

Will turn out half as good as this. 
The grass cannot be greener there, 

Nor any birds that sweeter sing, 
Nor can there be a silkier air 

Than that which comes with dawning spring. 

Can summer breezes softer blow ? 

Can any stars wear friendlier mien ? 
Hath any embers richer glow 

Than those that on my hearth are seen ? 
Are flowers sweeter to the sense. 

Can roses tell us more of love. 
Or dress with more magnificence 

In other worlds we know not of ? 

Nowhere can sunbeams happier play 

Than on this blessed earth we know ; 
And even when the days are gray. 

And all is hid in drift and snow, 
What rarer joys can there beguile. 

When twilight with its peace hath come, 
Than that unfailing radiant smile 

With which affection calls us home ? 
125 



MY ALLIES 

The world is gray, and bleak, and drear. 
The trees are reft of leaves, and stark 
Are standing yellow in the sere, 
And round me hover spectres dark — 
But what care I ? 
Have I not still the smiling sky 
So deeply blue 
Of hue. 
To send me hope from up on high ? 

My cherished plans have gone astray. 

And schemes with great ambition fraught 
Have come to ruin in the fray. 

And left me weary and distraught — 
And yet afar 
I see a friendly twinkling star, 
That lures me still 
With will 
To labor where life's treasures are I 

Give me the blessed stars, and skies. 
With just a glimpse of sea besides, 

Upon whose waves the sunlight lies. 
And fades into the moonlit tides ! 
126 



My Allies 

Then shall I be 
Unmoved by what Fate holds for me 

Of weal or woe, 
And do 
The task that's mine exultantly I 



127 



INSPIRATION 

Give me some green and grassy chair, 

A boulder for my table, 
And let the silken summer air 

Sing me its song and fable. 

I'll bid my fancy follow free 

The breeze's inspiration, 
And let my pen's whole effort be 

From Nature's own dictation. 



128 



ON LINCOLN'S BIRTHDAY 

A DAY of joy, a holiday ! 

A day in festal colors drest 
To honor one who knew not play, 

Nor ever tasted rest ! 

O Man of Sorrows, and of Tears, 
Would we might bring to you 

Back through the pathway of dead years 
One touch of comfort true ! 

Would that your eyes might penetrate 

The shadows in between. 
Through all the clouds of war and hate. 

And mists that intervene. 

Into the hearts of all the throng 

Of living men, to find 
Your name and fame the first among 

The treasures of mankind ! 



129 



IN JULY 

A SUMMER night, a summer sea — 
The stars all twinkling joyously ; 
A cooling breeze that wanders by 
As soft as some poor lover's sigh ; 
A flash of moth athwart the light ; 
The moon a marvel to the sight ; 
A touch of music on the air. 
And balmy odors everywhere 
To tell the story of the rose 
That sleeps in yonder garden-close ; 
And at my side the Only One 
Since life began, till life is done — 
Were all the world at hand to take 
I would not from this dream awake ! 



130 



THE TASK 

The deed that I would do 

Involves no valor of the sword, 
That in one moment mad of rue 

Should earn for me some rich reward, 
And cause posterity to rear, 

Where an admiring world might see. 
To pierce the upper heavens clear, 

A bronze, or marble shaft to me ; 
But in some corner of some squalid way 

Where misery shall lurk to fight, 
And bring the sunshine of a joyous day 

To dawn on souls oppressed by night ; 

To put unhappiness to flight. 
And start 
Some hopeless heart 
Upon the road to hope ; or where distress 
Hath dwelt, by acts of tenderness, 
And words of courage, helpfulness, and cheer, 

Drive out some mortal's fear. 

And set him on his way to light ! 



131 



THE FOUNT OF SONG 

Go, Singer ! Seek the woods and dales ; 

Seek thou the mountain heights, the vales ; 

List to the music of the breeze. 

The songs of birds, the whispering trees ; 

Breathe in the silken summer air ; 

Take in the essence of the fair 

Deep summer skies that spread above 

By day, and seize the treasure-trove 

That falls from those eternal heights 

On starry nights. 
The language of the flowers learn ; 
The fairies seek amid the fern ; 
Bid all the brooks that woo the sea 
Unfold their secrets unto thee — 
All things that whisper to the heart 
And Nature's messages impart, 

Seize thou, and then 

Take up thy pen. 
And weave them in thy song alway 
And thou shalt wear the everlasting bay ! 



132 



THE POET 

The Poet starved, yet, faithful to the end. 
His lines held food for brothers in despair. 

And in his cheerless attic coign he penned 
The lines of cheer that killed another's care ! 



133 



IN THE MONTH OF FEBRUEER 

In the month of Februeer 
Poets' songs are sad and drear — 

Biting winds, and chiUing mists ; 

Life is seen through amethysts — 
Darkly purple Februeer ! 

In the month of Februeer, 

In the yellow and the sere. 
Singers see but little worth 
On the dark and dreary earth — 
Sombre season of the year. 

Poor old month of Februeer ! 

How they love to gibe and jeer — 
Those who're eager and alert 
For the things that sting and hurt — 
Can't deny them, Februeer ! 

Yet I love thee, Februeer. 

I can see the things that cheer — 
Little samples of the spring. 
Hints of songs the birds will sing 

When the April days appear. 

In the meadow, on the mere. 
Here and there a grassy spear, 
134 



In the Month of Februeer 

Now and then a promise of 
Coming flowers full of love — 

In these days of Februeer. 

Only needs an eye and ear 
With the wish to see and hear. 
What we seek we ever find — 
Sordid things, or blessings kind, 
In the month of Februeer ! 



135 



WHEN SPRING DAYS COME 

When spring days come and I have naught to do, 

I love to rest beneath some spreading tree. 
And gaze aloft into the dreamy blue 
And think of all the wonders sweet and true 
A gracious Father hath prepared for me — 
The earth all fair upon whose verdant breast 

I lie at rest ; 
The freshness of the morn, the joyous birds. 
The tuneful lowing of the distant herds ; 

The lovely mysteries 

Of budding trees ; 
The dawning beauties of the garden-close. 
The violet, the daffodill, the rose ; 
The misty hills now greening in the sun ; 
The twilight lengthening when day is done — 

These gifts divine 

All, all are mine. 
To take, to use, and fitly to enjoy. 

Whatever may annoy. 
Wherefore in spring I love to rest and brood 

On gratitude ! 



186 



THE LIGHTED WAY 

Let those who will sound notes of dull despair, 

And fill with lamentation all the air — 

For me, let it be mine alway to send 

The cheery note of Love, unto this end : 

That they who on some path of darkness grope 
May find their way to Light through gleams of Hope. 



137 



THE THIEF 

Who robs me of my purse is welcome to his gain. 
Who taketh from my fame doth naught to cause me pain. 
Who rifles me of love takes naught of mine away 
For true love once possessed remains secure for aye. 

Who robs me of my name need fear no harm from me 
If only I am sure of my integrity, 
But he who steals my faith — ah, he's indeed a thief 
Who robs a trusting human soul of its Belief ! 



138 



"THE HYPOCRITIC DAYS'' 

" Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days." — Emerson. 

Why do you speak of "hypocritic days" ? 

Are days dissembling then, prone to deceit, 
And given o'er to falsely cunning ways 

That threaten mischief when they seem most sweet ? 

For once, my best loved Poet, do you seem 
To me to stumble in your path of light — 

The days indulge no hypocritic dream 

To lure mankind from peace to depths of night. 

'Tis we, not they, who make them what they are. 

They come to us of guile and pretence free : 
Clean, clear, and spotless on the calendar, 

God's Messengers of Opportunity ! 



139 



SIR KINDLY-THOUGHT 

O Kindly-Thought, go straightway forth, 
Fly East, and West, and South, and North. 

Cheer downcast hearts, and take surcease 
To troubled souls that yearn for peace. 

Wax great, O Kindly-Thought, with use 1 
Be Joy's St. George, nor call a truce 

In battling care ! With shaft of light 
Slay thou the Dragon of the Night ! 



140 



THE POET'S GRAVE 

"Heke lies a Poet !" Nay! There lies a stone ! 

Here lies perhaps a useless, mortal frame, 
An inert mass of weary dust and bone 

That once hath borne a glorious singer's name. 
But he, the Poet, lives, nor e'er shall pass 
From out the joyous and imperishable throng 
Of those who put the love of lad and lass. 
The grandeur of the sea, the green of grass, 
The voice of birds, the beauty of the flowers. 
The happiness and peace of quiet hours. 
The music of the winter-wind, the thrill 
Of spring-tide, and the babbling mountain rill. 
The glories all sublime of Motherhood, 

And Brotherhood, 
The joy of living, and the heart of man 
Within the span 
Of Godhke song ! 



141 



A FIRESIDE FANCY 

The dancing flames as from the logs they fly, 
And upward leap as though to seek the sky, 
Seem like the souls of fallen pines to me, 
Eager, elate, at thought of being free ; 
And now and then a soft, scarce-whispered hiss 
That greets the ear suggests a parting kiss — 
Or is't the sigh of one who at the last 
Recalls some blissful moment of the past ? 



142 



THE JOY OF LIVING 

Dame Fortune passed him by with sullen frown, 
But he, with joy of living so beguiled, 

Within his heart was not at all cast down, 

And as she went her way looked on and smiled. 



143 



TRANSPLANTED 

SEND me some soul from the city street 
To plant in my garden fair, 

Some poor little wight with his weary feet, 
His rags and his touselled hair. 

1 will plant his roots in the moist sweet earth, 
I'll bathe him in soft sunshine, 

I'll water his leaves with innocent mirth 
Out here in this close of mine. 

I'll give him the air of the countryside. 

The health of the piney hills ; 
The rapturous sweets of the eventide, 

The songs of the birds and rills. 

And he'll blossom forth like a lovely rose. 
In beauty, and thought, and deed. 

Not lost in the city's dark whirl of woes, 
A sad little human weed ! 



144 



THE SOUTHRON MESSENGER 

Mr. Southwind came a-soughing 

Gently through the stark-hmbed trees - 

Came so far he seemed a-puffing, 
SHghtly shaky in his knees ; 

But a pleasant message carried 
From the land where he was born, 

To the fields by winter harried, 
In the Northland all forlorn. 

" All your friends the birds send greeting 
From the Southland,^' whispered he. 

"Looking forward to the meeting 
That will very shortly be. 

" And the hosts of fragrant flowers 
Send their kindest love, and say 

They are counting up the hours 
Till the glad home-coming day.'' 

And it seemed the cold, gray meadows. 
And the sleeping stark-limbed trees, 

Brightened mid the wintry shadows 
At the Southwind's messages. 
L 145 



MARCH 

Cometh March with wind and rain ; 
Cometh March with sun and shine ; 
Cometh March the bold again — 
Weather sombre ; weather fine. 

Here a bit of autumn shows ; 
Here a bit of spring appears ; 
Here a touch of summer-glows 
Drives away the winter's tears. 

What is March ? 'Tis neither spring, 
Winter, summer, nor the fall. 
Singing now, now murmuring. 
Little touches of them all. 

Bits of trouble, bits of joy ; 
Days of peace and days of strife ; 
Frowning, smiling, pushing, coy — 
March, epitome of fife ! 



146 



THE ALTERNATIVE 

This thing of brass is here ; 

These things of stone abide ; 
These blocks of marble rear 

Their cold and sculptured pride. 

These things of wroughten steel 

Of centuries long dead, 
Their presence still reveal 

Despite the ages sped. 

Impassionate and still, 

Insensate all are they ; 
Untouched by joy or ill, 

As lifeless mortal clay. 

Durst say ^tis Nature's plan 
That these shall live for aye. 

The while the Soul of Man 
Alone shall sink and die ? 

The Soul of Man that breathes. 
And strives with Godlike might ; 

The Soul that loves, and wreathes 
The world in bays of light ? 

Durst say that this is truth ? 

Then better far that we 
Give o'er the dreams of youth. 

And stone and iron be ! 
147 



A WOODLAND EASTER 

'Tis Easter morn, a day of loveliness. 

The earth, and sky, and sea, are bright of mien. 
All Nature dons its fairest gala dress. 

And everywhere white blossoms deck the scene. 

The birds the Easter carols blithely sing. 

The swelling chorus echoes through the dells, 
And with her joyous message dawning spring 

The story of the Resurrection tells. 

All things look upward to the heavens high ; 

In offerings of praise each bears its part, 
And deep within my woodland dwelling I 

Find Easter chimes are ringing in my heart. 



148 



NATURE'S COMFORTERS 

What though my plodding pen may fail, 
And all my lines seem poor, and pale ? 
I know what's in my heart to say. 
And that illumines all my day ; 
And in the wood the tall pines form 
An audience steadfast and warm ; 
And as my halting measures rise 
The breezes answer with their sighs ; 
The birds make answer to my song 
Despite my note is far from strong ; 
And in the hills an Echo free 
Repeats my measures after me ! 



149 



THE CATCH 

IVe enjoyed the chase to-day 
Through the woodland wild. 

Fortune in a lavish way 
Hath my heart beguiled. 

I have filled my game-bag well — 

Better than I thought. 
Fat and teeming it doth swell 

With the things I sought. 

Songs of birds, and songs of trees. 
Gentle whisperings of the breeze. 
Splendid mess of mountain air. 
Odors of wild-flowers rare. 
Happy thoughts that grew apace 
As I watched the rillets race. 
Wondrous pictures in the skies. 
Vistas soft for tired eyes. 
Hints of peace, and hints of rest. 
Gorgeous colors in the west. 
Stores of gold flung far and wide 
O'er the gleaming country-side, 
As the sun smiled on the scene, 
Lighting up the forest green. 

O the joy, the glad delight, 

O the taste of bliss, 
Making homeward through the night 

With a catch like this ! 
150 



THE SUNNY SIDE 

Life holds no woes for me ! I know full well, 

However evil things may seem to me to-day, 
Some future joy is certain to dispel 

The clouds that lower darkly on my way. 
And I have noted that one taste of bliss, 

E'en though 'tis but a taste, hath joyous meed 
To compensate for all that goes amiss 

On which a soul in sorrow long may feed. 
No night e'er was whose darkness did not fade ; 

No storm e'er raged whose course was not soon run ; 
And so my soul, by troubles undismayed. 

Doth simply wait the coming of the sun. 



151 



THE HERITAGE 

When so a heavy rod shall rise to smite me, 

And sore afflictions come to sear my soul, 
When complications round about affright me, 

And clouds of sorrow from all sides uproU ; 
When trial waits my gaze at every turning, 

And chill misunderstanding greets my deed, 
And spite of all the thirst for good that's burning 

Within my heart finds no responsive heed ; 

When sturdy friends I've counted on are wanting ; 

When enemies rejoice to see me fall ; 
And o'er my troubled spirit gray the haunting 

Fears of a ruin imminent appall ; 
When all my days are days of gloom and sadness, 

And where was light no hint of light appears ; 
When every hope I hold to seems but madness, 

And they who used to praise now turn to sneers ; 

Still in my breast despite its load of sorrow. 

Despite the pressure of o'erwhelming care, 
I sense the thrilling joy of a to-morrow 

Whose dawn shall lighten up the darkness there. 
I sense a moment nigh, when, woe abating, 

I'll tread the path that leads on to release, 
And find a cure for troubles dire awaiting 

Safe in the everlasting arms of Peace. 

152 



The Heritage 

For Life and Love so close are interweaving 

That none can hve and yet be portionless ; 
And days must come with hours all retrieving 

The dreary years of unfound happiness ; 
And he whose share of Love is not yet ready, 

Whose measure of its joy is yet unknown. 
Need only keep his Faith both sure and steady 

To come sometime, somewhere, into his own ! 



153 



THE SONG OF THE ROSE 

I AM the Rose, the promise of the spring 
That winter's frosty chains, so withering, 
Cannot avail, whatever their power be, 
To hold the soul for aye in slavery. 

A messenger to spirits bowed in care. 

The hopeless and oppressed, am I, and rare 

The message that I spread throughout the land — 

"Hold fast thy Faith ! Release is close at hand !" 

A messenger of Love, likewise, am I. 
I hold the kiss of sun, the zephyr's sigh ; 
The loving whisper of the breeze that fills 
The lonely heart with life's divinest thrills ! 

And they that pass along the thorny way, 
Their fortunes fallen on an evil day. 
Despite my flaunting pride, they call me good 
Because my friendly nod speaks brotherhood ! 

The glowing colors of the dawn are mine. 

The gloried hues of sunset all combine 

To clothe me in a vestiture all blent 

With peace, and joy, and rapture, and content ! 

And when the fragrance of my presence seeks 
The spring and summer air, it but bespeaks 
The meed of all, in sorrow or in mirth. 
The everlasting sweetness of the earth ! 

154 



THE WEALTH OF THE ROAD 

GIVE me for treasure no gems of the Ind, 
But just the rich gifts of the sun and the wind ; 
My lungs full of ozone, my soul full of glee — 
The wealth of the Road is the treasure for me ! 

Who cares for the gold, for the bonds and the stocks, 
Hid deep in the grip of some steel-armored box, 
When out on the highway when twilight comes by 
He seizes the sunset that blazons the sky ? 

What riches are they that are measured by pence 
And wrung from a toil that is selfish and tense. 
Compared to the wealth of a soul that is free 
And roams o'er the broad open highway with me ? 

What silver of dross in the realm of the mart, 
All cold, unresponsive to soul or to heart. 
Can give to the spirit of man such a thrill 
As comes from the silvery song of the rill ? 

Mankind to the full of my powers I'll serve. 
But seek my rewards, not in shattering nerve, 
With gold for my pay, but the rich stores of love 
That stream from the hand of my God up above ! 

The gold of the dawn — that is ever mine own — 

1 spend like a prodigal set on a throne, 

155 



The Wealth of the Road 

And yet when 'tis spent, all the greater my thrift — 
One gains in the giving of this blessed gift ! 

For music the birds, and the whispering breeze ; 
For bed some soft spot where the pine lures to ease ; 
For comrades God's creatures that prank everywhere ; 
For books the rare fancies that throb in the air ! 



And 'stead of rich robes made of fabric so gay 
That men in their winning dare death on the way, 
Content is my heart, and my meed is delight. 
In clothing my soul in the mantle of night. 

Seek ye, if ye will, the cold treasures of earth — 
I'll take for my share all the joy and the mirth 
Of freedom that comes with no trials to goad 
To him who's content with the Wealth of the Road ! 



156 



HUMOR 

^ - 

"Humor dwells with sanity, common sense, and truth." 

— Bishop Brewster. 

Humor dwells with sanity, 

Truth, and common sense. 
Humor is humanity, 

Sympathy intense. 

Humor always laughs with you, 

Never at you ; she 
Loves the fun that's sweet and true. 

And of malice free. 

Humor paints the flying fad. 

Folly of the day, 
As it is, the good or bad. 

In a kindly way. 

There behind her smiling mien, 

In her twinkling eyes. 
Purpose true is ever seen. 

Seriousness lies. 

Hers the tender mother-touch. 

Easing all distress ; 
Teaching e'en tho' smiling much ; 

Moulding with caress. 
157 



THE LIGHT OF LIGHTS 

The City lights are fair to see, 

And seem to twinkle merrily, 

To tell of joyous bits of life 

Amid the turmoil and the strife. 

Like myriad stars they flash and gleam, 

A never-ending golden stream, 

And yet for all their mellow glow 

They cannot gild the City's woe. 

The beacon lights upon the shore 
Shine brightly all the waters o'er. 
And guide the sailor on the sea 
Into the port where he would be. 
Yet as they flash across the night, 
Despite their gleaming, golden bright. 
They call me not, but bid me veer 
My course from dangers lurking near ! 

The stars of Heaven brightly shine 
Athwart the blue, so vast, divine. 
And whisper of great mysteries 
In realms man's vision never sees. 
They stir the soul, and yet I find 
No messages of any kind 
That lodgment win within the heart. 
So far are they and I apart ! 
158 



The Light of Lights 

But there's a light on yonder hill 
That killeth care, and driveth ill, 
And haunting fear, whate'er it be, 
Forth from this human heart of me — 
The light seen through the window-pane 
That welcomes me back home again, 
Where there is one who bids me share 
The joys of love abiding there ! 

Ah, Light of Home ! When day is done. 
And the rest hour hath begun. 
Of all the lights of land or sea 
Thou art the fairest light to me ! 
Dim tho' thou art, still is thy gold 
The richest treasure life doth hold — 
It glorifies the blackest zone. 
And bids the heart come to its own ! 



159 



AS TO FEAR 

When I'm afloat in a cockle-shell, 
Confronted by the raging swell 

Of ocean in a roaring gale, 
If I'm alone I have no fear 
Of what awaits, in woe or cheer. 

If into port or not I sail. 

'Tis good to match the might of me 
Against the raging of the sea, 

Whatever be the ultimate ; 
Within my heart and soul to find 
To fight the wiles of tide and wind 

A courage eager and elate. 

Mine is the loss if loss comes by ! 
Mine is the bliss of Victory ! 

Mine is the woe, and mine the gain ! 
Mine is the joy that comes apace 
To victors in the stormy race — 

If conquered mine is all the pain ! 

But when another sitteth near, 

'Tis then my heart grows chill with fear. 

And dangers looming high appall. 
The waves with overwhelming height 
Seem dreadful in their awful might, 

As round about they rise and fall. 
160 



As to Fear 

And tremblingly I run my race, 
With frenzied heart, and pallid face, 

And darkling terror is my meed — 
Not that I fear the raging sea. 
But lest a perfect Faith in me 

Shall find me wanting in the deed ! 



M 161 



THE EVER YOUNG 

He was a mighty pleasant sight, 

This aged, snowy-headed wight. 

Who though his knees were badly sprung 

At seventy was still so young 

That in his heart still rang the lays 

He sang back in his boyhood days. 

His step was slow, and insecure. 
His sight was not completely sure, 
Yet from his eyes a soul looked out 
He'd ever kept so free from doubt 
That it was matter small to him 
To find his vision growing dim. 

He'd made a vow back in his youth 
That come what would of joy or ruth, 
That come what would of peace or pain, 
Of days all bright, of hours of rain, 
He'd use his heart to store away 
One bit of sunshine every day. 

This vow he kept, and year by year 
He added to his stock of cheer. 
And strange to say, though it is true. 
Each stored-up sun-ray doubly grew 
Until to-day his stores of pelf 
Are rivals to the sun itself. 
162 



The Ever Young 

Ah, dear old friend ! What joy to see 
A wight whose score is seventy, 
Deep in the winter of his Hfe, 
So full of light, so free from strife. 
That in his presence there doth ring 
The notes of everlasting spring ! 



163 



PLODDIN' ALONG 

Workin' ahead, jest a-ploddin' along, 
Payin' no heed to the buffet and blow ; 

Heart in my labor, and soul in my song, 
Doin' the best thet I can as I go. 

Never quite satisfied, allers serene. 

Tryin' to make each to-day a success. 
Hopin' to win for my laurel the green 

Given by some one IVe helped in his stress. 

Hopin' to win not illustrious fame 
Echoin' down to the uttermost year. 

But in the heart of my neighbor a name 
Cherished, beloved, because of its cheer. 

Workin' ahead, jest a-ploddin' along. 

Careless o' critics, abidin' the test. 
Fearin' perhaps, but a-hopin' my song 

Allers '11 show me a-doin' my best ! 



164 



THE GREENER BAY 

He dipped his pen in golden light, 
And wrote what lay within his heart, 

His eyes averted from the night, 
And never paused to think of art. 

He missed the laurel of renown ; 

He failed to win the highest goal, 
Yet on his brow he wears the crown 

That comes to him who saves a soul. 

For one all heedless of his form. 
Sunk in the depths of grim despair. 

Found in his lines a message warm 
That led to Peace from realms of Care ! 



165 



THE JOYS OF RHYME 

HowEVEK dark the night, 
Night rhymes with Hght ! 

Despite the clouded sun 
Sun rhymes with fun ! 

However sharp the dart 
Dart rhymes with heart 1 

However drab the scene 
Scene rhymes with green ! 

Despite the wintry day 
Day rhymes with May ! 

However great my fear 
Fear rhymes with cheer ! 

However harsh the wrong 
Wrong rhymes with song ! 

However far the goal 
Goal rhymes with soul ! 

Despite the killing pace 
Pace rhymes with grace ! 
166 



The Joys of Rhyme 

However chill the storm 
Storm rhymes with warm ! 

However hard the strife 
Strife rhymes with Life I 



167 



THE SEEING EYE 

Small things and humble greatest lessons hold, 
Which to the seeing eye they soon unfold — 
As on some thorny road my way I pass 
I get new courage from a blade of grass, 
Which 'mid the turmoil and the weeds that kill 
Holds fearlessly its course appointed still. 



168 



THE GATEWAY 

Death somehow doth not seem to be a thing 

To me of terror and of shuddering, 

But just a gateway opening upon 

New fields, new scenes, and new ideas anon — 
Or if 'tis not, who holds it blessing cheap 
To lie at rest in peaceful, dreamless, sleep ? 



169 



THE CROWN OF WASHINGTON 

He loved his trees, his flowers, and the yields 
Of lush green meadows, and the harvest fields. 
The soul within him yearned for paths of peace. 
His prayer was ever that grim war might cease, 
That back once more, there in his vernal bowers, 
He might enjoy the rest of tranquil hours, 
And train his vines, and till his fertile lands 

With his own hands ; 
That where the tocsin sounded there might swell 
The mellow chimes of some cathedral bell 

To summon man from toil. 

For warlike spoil 
He had no temper, yet at Duty's call 
Wife, home, and flowers, peace and comfort, all 
He sadly left lest Honor be undone, 
Nor e'er knew rest again ! O Washington, 
No crown of gold alight with jewelled sheen 
Adorns thy brow, but one as fresh and green 
As were the scenes you loved — the laurel leaf, 
The diadem of our Unselfish Chief ! 



170 



THE BLESSED BLIND 

They say that Love, poor little Love, is blind. 

Twas Milton's fate to be likewise, and he 
Deep in his soul the stores of wealth divined 

That crowned his brow with Immortality. 

So Love, of sight bereft, with eyes of Soul 

Still wends his way, and serves his Godlike part, 

And age on age leads mortals to the goal 
Where lie the richest treasures of the heart ! 



171 



TO MARK TWAIN 

On His Seventieth Birthday 

Heke's to the Prince of Wits ! 
Here's to his Seventy Years ! 
Time, the fugacious, jBits 
Over this vale of tears, 
Yet never a mark leaves in its train 
To dimmer the loyal love for Twain 
In the warp and woof of the hearts of those 

Whose sorrows and woes. 

Whose trials and pain. 
Have vanished like smoke into thinnest air 
'Neath the magic touch of his genius rare ! 

God give him power 

For every hour 
Of peace he has brought where storm-clouds lower 1 

God give him a day 

For every ray 
Of light he has shed on sorrow's way ! 

God give him a year 

For every fear 
His blithesome spirit has turned to cheer, 
And his Seventy Years will straightway be 
But the end of a promising infancy ! 



172 



THE AFFINITIES 

I KNOW, my Heart, that in some far-off age 

Before this world sprang from chaotic strife 
Both you and I, on some primeval stage, 

Together faced the woes and joys of life. 
Not two, but one, were we back there in space 

When You were I, and I was You, in truth, 
Through chaos rushing in the seething race 

In union blest as now are Love and Youth ! 

I know it as I know on this rare night 

That yonder stars, that coruscate on high. 
Are fair to see, and with their golden light 

The arching vault of heaven glorify. 
I know it as I know that love is sweet. 

^Tis sure to me as that the sun will rise 
And on the morrow once again will greet 

The dawning day with hints of Paradise 1 

I knew it when first on this joyous earth 

We met, and felt again the wondrous thrill 
With which Love weaves the moment of rebirth 

Of something lost in far-off days of ill. 
'Twas like a coming home to one whose days 

In wandering and weariness were spent. 
To find amid the once accustomed ways 

A perfect bliss, and unalloyed content. 
173 



TO THE MUSE IN AUTUMN 

Awake, O Muse, from this dull lethargy 

Of doleful thoughts to sweet reality ! 

The Autumn spells not death as thou dost say ; 

'Tis not the harbinger of drear dismay, 

Forebodings dark, reflections dire and sad. 

But fitting time for themes all gay and glad ! 

'Tis twilight of the year, the eventide — 

The time for hearth-stones, genial and wide ; 

The time when blazing logs begin to weave 

Their wondrous spells for weary ones at eve, 

When at the earlier setting of the sun, 

They pause at last from labors nobly done ; 

Refreshment time that fitly leads us on 

To dreamy hours of rest that come anon. 

Awake ! Be glad ! Give doleful thoughts surcease, 

And sing the Joys of Twilight and of Peace ! 



174 



cm BONO? 

Such wondrous Faith in my own powers have I 

That I can move a mountain if I choose. 
But that's a task I don't intend to try. 
I love to have the mountain standing by, 
With paths to lead me nearer to the sky — 
So what's the use ? 



175 



SHAKESPEARE'S BIRTHDAY 

To-day was Shakespeare born ! 
Upon a day like this it must have been : 
A golden morn. 
Fields decked in vernal green ; 
The birds full-throated sound their songs of glee 
And with one voice 
Rejoice ; 
A wondrous glory rests upon the sea. 
The whiles 
The heavens are all smiles. 
And earth doth wear 
A jocund air. 
And all is glad and gay — 
The Muses' greatest son was born to-day ! 



176 



AS TO THE LAW 

What volumes of immensity 

To hold Man's Statutes do we see ! 

A never-ending list of Musts 

To curb our universal lusts ! 

And Shalts and Shalt Nots, tiers on tiers, 

As endless as the eternal years I 

So fraught are these with tricksy phrase, 
In warp and woof so shot with haze 
On every side are Sages seen 
Perplexed to tell us what they mean — 
Each Hall of Justice is a hive 
Of bees that on Contention thrive. 

What woeful work is thine, Man, 

To weave so vast a legal span 

To bridge the troubles that intrude ! 

What impudent ineptitude, 

When God, who knew the needs of Men, 

Put all His Law in Statutes Ten ! 



s 



177 



TWIXT FACT AND FANCY 

Ofttimes as through some forest glade 
My step hath strayed. 
And I observe the beauties of the scene : 

The bowers soft and green, 
Wherein some elfin band perchance hath played ; 
Or where the wood-nymphs dwell. 
And weave their fairy-spell ; 
While here and there a glint of sun shines down, 
And penetrates its leafy crown. 
And from the upper hills. 
The music of the rills. 
Entrancing, clear. 
Enchant the ear, 
I wonder where, deep-hid from mortal eyes, 
The fine-spun line 'twixt fact and fancy lies ? 



178 



MUSIC 

When things go wrong 
I find it helps along 
To pause and sing some pleasant little song. 

When things go right "^ 

It adds to my delight 
Again to give those tuneful measures flight. 

Sunshine, or rain, 
'Tis Music's mission plain 
To add to joy and take away from pain I 



179 



THANKSGIVING DAY 

For all the gracious gifts in harvests fair 
In things material whose goodly share 

I richly prize ; 
For man's abundant wealth that lies in sight, 
And for the sense of power and of might 
With which to meet my foe, and fight the fight. 

My thanks arise. 



But for the richer gifts of Love and Peace 
That bring the soul a sense of sweet release 

From pressing care ; 
For mercies shown ; for greater growth of soul ; 
For light when clouds of deadly dark uproU 
To point the way to some more lofty goal, 

And lead us there ; 



For broader human sympathy ; for tears 
Of Brotherhood to ease another's fears. 

And cheer his way ; 
For seeing eyes ; and shoulders fit to bear 
The burdens of our fellows in despair, 
And right good will to help them in their care 

When times are gray ; 
180 



Thanksgiving Day 

For men of heart and soul inclined 
To honors of a lowlier, meeker kind, 

With grace endued ; 
Who seek all dire injustices to mend, 
To guide the hopeless to some hopeful end, 
Not this alone, but all my days, I spend 

In gratitude ! 



181 



-v^ 



SERVICE 

To serve another's will — 

That's not for me ! 
My heart is not athrill 

For slavery. 

To serve another's need 

Right heartily, 
In thought, and word, and deed 

That's liberty ! 



182 



JOY SHARING 

With all the joys that everywhere abound, 
In earth, in sky, on sea, in vibrant air. 

Where God's great gifts are in abundance found, 
What pity 'tis all men have not their share I 

God grant that 'mid these gifts that fall to me. 
In all the plenteous stores that on me press. 

May come an eye my Brother's lack to see 
And will to share with him my plenteousness ! 



183 



REPAYMENT 

April 4th, 1913. 

My son, who's twenty-five years old to-day, 
Hath not forgot his old-time, boyish way 
Whene'er we meet, despite his mannish pride. 
Of snuggling down contented at my side. 
He kisses me with an affection true 
Just as in childhood he was wont to do ; 
And as he gained in days that used to be 
A blessed sense of his security. 
And felt himself protected from all harms 

Within his Father's arms. 
So I by his caress with strength endued 
Find my own confidence in self renewed, 
And go forth stronger for what lies ahead, 
Be it of good, or be it aught of dread. 
I gave him of my Manhood ; he, in truth. 
Now in my Age repays the gift in Youth ! 



184 



MY CREED 

In building up my Creed 

To help me in my trials 
The things that most I heed 

Are not the vain denials 
That occupy the mind 

Of Critics most devout, 
Negations of a kind 

That do but strengthen Doubt. 

But rather Truths that rise 

Whatever clouds uproll. 
Eternal as the skies, 

To satisfy the Soul — 
The Affirmations of 

A God in all I see, 
Whose never-failing Love 

Commands my fealty. 



185 



THE SUMMONS 

Now come the Christmas chimes to summon me 

From sluggish ease and cynic thoughts of doubt 
To deeds of kindly Opportunity 

That on all sides of us now lie about ; 
To spread the Gospel of Good Will to all, 

To sing the songs of Peace upon the mart, 
And fill with spirit of high festival 

To overflowing every human heart. 

To carry hope to hopeless ones, and ease 

The sufferings of grievous helplessness ; 
To carry joy to those whose miseries 

Have plunged them in a maelstrom of distress ; 
To lavish Light on Darkness, drying tears ; 

To enter into homes of them that grieve. 
And with the touch of sympathy the fears 

Of brothers in affliction dread relieve. 

That is the song those Christmas chimes ring forth ! 

That is the summons sent to those who hear. 
Borne on the crispy air from out the north 

Upon this morn so thrilling in its cheer. 
Let him who hath of his possessions spend 

Not stores of gold, but Love in fullest play — 
He wins the greatest treasure in the end 

Who Lives as well as Gives his Christmas Day ! 

186 



GETTYSBURG FIFTY YEARS AFTER 



'Tis fifty years, my Brother, since on that fatal day, 
Confronting one another in grim war's dread array. 

The Gray and Blue with courage true 

Met on this field for deeds of rue. 
To slaughter and to slay ! 

Hate filled our eyes then. Brother, and rage enthralled 

each heart — 
A rage that naught could smother, and drove us mad, 
apart. 

Each fought for right as right he knew, 
^And as we fought our madness grew, 
And poisoned every dart. 

Blood-lust was on us. Brother. We writhed beneath its 

spell. 
And sons of the same mother beneath its madness fell. 
We maimed, and lamed, and blindly slew — 
Each did the deed he had to do 
Nor knew that it was Hell ! 

The skies grew lurid overhead. 

As shot and shell with carnage dread 

187 



Gettysburg Fifty Years After 

Their sanguinary horrors spread. 
And scarlet grew the meadows green, 
And great streams babbled o'er the scene, 

And every stream was red ! 



II 



To-day we meet again, Brother, upon that self-same 

field. 
Forgot is every pain. Brother, in newborn Love re- 
vealed. 

The Blue and Gray, in glad array, 
Stand face to face as on that day. 
And every wound is healed ! 

The madness of the fray, Brother, the blindness of the 

fight. 
Like to that dreadful day, Brother, have faded in the 
night. 

And hand in hand the Spirit band 
As well as we together stand, 
Together face the Light ! 

E'en as the blood we shed. Brother, the blood of warriors 

true 
In one stream mingled red. Brother, and sped thence to 
the blue. 

All blent in blessed unity, 
So in a Union blest run we 
To face what we've to do ! 
188 



Gettysburg Fifty Years After 



III 



Gone is the rage that filled our hearts. 

Gone is the hate that dulled our eyes, 
And here where flew envenomed darts 

The Palm of Peace Fraternal lies. 
Where Brother once his Brother slew, 

And grim war dimmed the skies above. 
Once more we come, the Gray, the Blue, 

To hold a Festival of Love ! 



189 



PROFIT AND LOSS 

Here are the treasures I have won : 

A sense of Duty sometimes done ; 

A pleasing taste of present fame ; 

The goodly solace of a name 

That men speak well of here and there ; 

And gold enough to banish care ; 

A place in the community 

Wherein my neighbors speak of me 

As one who's made use of his days 

In doing good in divers ways ; 

Who has not wasted fleeting hours. 

Nor idly spent his stock of powers 

On things of trivial intent ; 

A retrospect of shadows blent 

With many a vista flashed with gold, 

In which rare scenes of bliss unfold 

And turn to jewels e'en the tears 

That dimmed the eyes in yesteryears. 

The cost has been the loss of skies 
That promised many a noble prize ; 
The loss of spring-time in the heart. 
Of Youth the all-essential part ; 
The loss of eagerness to meet 
The unknown perils of the street ; 
190 



Profit and Loss 

The dimming of Ambition's light ; 
A greater sense of coming night ; 
The loss of thrilled expectancy 
When thinking on what is to be ; 
On what to-morrow holds in store 
Upon its dark untrodden shore ; 
The loss of dreams of deeds to do ; 
The love of all things strange and new 
All these possessions rare are lost, 
Forever gone to swell the cost 
Of life and all the hard-won bays 
That crown me in my latter days. 



The balance ? Strike it if you will. 
Find it of good, or find it ill — 
I vex me not with balances 
To see if loss or profit is. 
I've joyed in joys, and grieved in tears. 
The light and shadow of the years 
Have kept me ever in their reach, 
As night and day each follows each. 
Great happiness and woes have come. 
Like summers fair and winters numb. 
Great peace has filled my soul, and strife 
Has had its portion of my life. 
And as I draw nigh to the end. 
And think of enemy and friend, 
Of helpmate fair, of bliss and grief, 
Of flowers dead, and buds in leaf, 
191 



Profit and Loss 

Of troubles, trials, blessings, gifts ; 
Of plans, ambitions, failures, shifts, 
I would not cast the balance up 
If sweet or bitter be the cup, 
But am content, whatever befall — 
I'm grateful to have lived at all ! 



192 



ON A RAINY DAY IN A LIBRARY 

When falls the gentle summer rain, 

And caution bids us stay within, 
I vex me not with thoughts of pain 

That I may not the hillsides win ; 
That I may not the country roam 

At will, and speed o'er hill and dale. 
But rest contentedly at home 

With stores of wealth that never fail. 

A miner I become, and here 

Surrounded by vast lodes of thought, 
Great messages in woe or cheer 

From out recesses hid are brought — 
A nugget now of Wisdom's gold 

From Sages past perhaps I find. 
Or possibly some ledge will hold 

Soul-metal of some rarer kind. 

Would I commune with lyric bird 

In glowing ecstasies of song ? 
Here are the Poets' numbers heard 

That to the heavenly choir belong. 
The songs that tell of youthful dreams ; 

The songs that sing undying love. 
And through the cloud-rifts grant us gleams 

Of our immortal treasure-trove 

o 193 



On a Rainy Day in a Library 

Or do I seek adventure swift, 

Some knightly deed of prowess rare, 
Mine eye to otherward I shift | 

And that I seek awaits me there — 
The heroes of a doughty age, 

Greece, Rome, or mediaeval France, 
Wait on the turning of some page 

In tourney bold, or courtly dance. 

Their loves, their hates, I share them both. 

In perils I am at their side. 
When war's afoot I'm nothing loath 

To mount and forth to battle ride ; 
And when some feat of arms is done 

By Cavalier for Ladye Fayre, 
The smiling prizes nobly won 

Are mine as well as his to share. 

On enterprise of pirate sort. 

Again, I freely may embark, 
Nor later fear the ill-report 

That follows bloody deeds and dark ; 
But fearless of all consequence 

To life, or limb, or good-repute, 
I join in the incontinence 

Of shambles for the sake of loot. 

Or be my mood of nobler cast. 

And wider, stranger worlds my quest, 
194 



On a Rainy Day in a Library 

Before, or eke behind, some mast 
I seek discovery with the best — 

Columbus, Ponce, De Soto — all 
The heroes of a valiant mould 

Within some cover wait my call 
To do again the deeds of old. 

Or best of all, if so I will 

To seek a more ennobling zone, 
And walk with men inspiring still, 

The greatest souls the world hath known, 
From all the list of truly great 

*Tis mine to choose my company ; 
To join them in their gloried state, 

Or share their grim Gethsemane. 

When falls the gentle summer rain, 

And caution bids us stay within, 
I vex me not with murmurs vain 

That I the hillsides may not win ; 
But here within these quiet nooks, 

Content as Omar ^neath his vine, 
I roam through my beloved books, 

And all the universe is mine. 



195 



s.o.s. 

In the code of Wireless Telegraphy the letters S.O.S. are 
the signal of Distress. 

"S.O.S. ! S.O.S. !" 

Comes the signal of distress 
Everywhere we list we hear 
Some one sounding in his fear, 

"S.O.S." 
If it happen on the sea 

Instantly 
Comes the answer, ringing clear, 
" Hold your spirits full of cheer ! 
We are hastening o'er the wave. 

And will save ! 
Hidden in the misty haze 
Of dread ocean's stormy ways 
We will find you and extend 
Helping hand unto the end ; 
Hand to lift you safely o'er 
Raging waters to the shore. 
Keep your courage undismayed ! 
Let your hearts rest unafraid — 
We have heard your cry of fear 
Ringing through the atmosphere. 
And with loving eagerness 
O'er the waters on we press. 
Answering your S.O.S. !" 
196 



s.o.s. 

If it happen on the land 
Where is then the helping hand ? 
From the homes of penury, 
From the vales of misery, 
From the lair of sodden grief 
Comes the pleading for relief, 

"S.O.S. ! S.O.S. ! 
Help us in our helplessness — 

S.O.S. V 
Sounding daily in our ears 
From the haunts of human tears, 
Echoing on every side 
From the ever-rising tide 
Comes the call for tenderness — 

"S.O.S. !" 

Grinding chance, and human ills ; 
Shattered hope that numbs and kills ; 
Human derelicts are there. 
Sinking, sinking, in despair, 

To the grave ; 
In their awful loneliness. 
Crying, sobbing, "S.O.S. ! 
Come in charity to save I 

From the spring 
Of thy blessings haste to bring 
Comfort to the comfortless — 

S.O.S. I S.O.S.!" 
Women, children, in the crush. 
Trampled in the maddened rush, 
197 



s.o.s. 

For some bare necessity 
Cry aloud incessantly, 
In their groaning wretchedness, 
"S.O.S. !" 



Here's a human soul beset 
In the purlieus of regret — 
Tangled up, enmeshed within 

Webs of Sin — 
Hear his signal of distress ! 
Hear his wailing S.O.S. ! 

"Hasten ye ! 
Save me from this beggary — 
Beggary of soul and heart ! 
I, alas, have lost my chart. 
And am drifting o'er the sea 
To the ports of slavery 

Ransomless — 

S.O.S. I s.o.s. ! 
Round my soul the waters rise 
Shutting out the blue of skies ; 
Shutting out the Father's face 
In the fathomless disgrace — 
Will ye leave me in my stress 

Fatherless ? 
Leave me not unto this fate ! 
Come before it is too late — 
Ere a human soul shall sink. 
Slipping, slipping, o'er the brink, 
198 



s.o.s. 

In the snare 
Of despair, 
Lost for aye to righteousness — 
S.O.S. ! S.O.S. !" 

O the signals ! O the calls ! 
Flashing o'er these city walls 
From the realms of ugliness 
That upon us ever press 
With their pleading S.O.S. ! 
Cries of children in despond — 

Motherless ! 
To the helping hands beyond — 

"S.O.S. !" 
Pleading ever for release ! 
Pleading for one taste of peace ! 
Little ones that blindly grope 
In a hopeless quest for hope ! 
Pleading for a sure relief 
From the waves of sin and grief I 
Human vessels, one and all, 
Sending out their piteous call — 
Shall they find us pitiless, 
When they sound their S.O.S. ? 

Do we heed them ? Do we list 
To those voices in the mist 

On the land ? 
Have we lent the helping hand 
To our Brothers in despair 

Everywhere ? 
199 



s.o.s. 

Do we send them words of cheer. 
Bidding them forget their fear, 
With a message sounding clear — 
"Hold your courage undismayed ! 
Keep your spirits unafraid I 
We are hastening o'er the wave, 

And will save ! 
We will come in Brotherhood, 
And our boats are staunch, and good. 
Laden deep with Love and Hope 
For the weary souls that grope 

In the sea 
Of despair and misery — 
Laden deep with tenderness, 
Bringing comfort in your stress. 
Answering your S.O.S. V 



200 



' I 'HE following pages contain advertisements 
of recent important poetry. 



IMPORTANT BOOKS OF POETRY 

Three New Books 

Bp JOHN MASEFIELD 

SALT WATER BALLADS 

Cloth. i2mo. $1.00 net. Postpaid $i.io. 

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sea." — New York Sun. 

A MAINSAIL HAUL 

Cloth. i2mo. $1.23 net. Postpaid $1.36. 

"There is strength about everything Masefield writes 
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Preparing. 

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" Everything has sprung from immortal life and is vibrating 
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Tagore is a great human being. His heart is warm with love. 
His thoughts are pure and high as the galaxy. 

(Copyright, 1913, by Frank Crane.) Reprinted by permission 
from the New York Globe, Dec. 18, 1913. 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New Tork 



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